Unto the Breach
by Kneazle
Summary: AU. Two Potter brothers, one marked as the Dark Lord's equal, the other not—but both with a touch of destiny about them. Will Harry be pulled into darkness, or can his little brother Edgar save him? A different 'brother of the Boy-Who-Lived' story. WIP.
1. I: Destiny

Unto the Breach

Kneazle

**Summary**: AU. Two Potter brothers, one marked as the Dark Lord's equal, the other not—but both with a touch of destiny about them. Not the usual 'brother of the BWL' story.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Notes**: A Coming of Age story, focusing on the war with Voldemort and not so much ships—so a bit different than what I usually write.

*

**Cassius:**  
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,  
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

_Julius Caesar (I, ii, 140-141)_

*

_Beginning…_

Lily Potter, née Evans, had always enjoyed history. It was hardly her best subject, of course; she excelled in Potions and Charms, but history was fascinating on its own. She had always done well in her primary school, and upon entering the magical world, she found a whole new history revealed to her to embrace and learn from.

Unfortunately, she also learned that the old adage of "those who do not learn their history are doomed to repeat it" was _not_ well known in the magical world and that the Purebloods ruled supreme while Muggleborns such as herself were often cast aside.

Despite the prejudice against her and those like her, Lily had the luck to be exceedingly intelligent, and she married into an old, powerful, Pureblood family: the Potters. James Potter, while a prat at times, was the love of her life and after years of chasing her and then maturing, Lily graced James Potter with a 'yes' for a date in Hogsmeade, and the rest, they say, is history.

Things were not all peaceful though. The wizarding world was entrenched in a civil war of Pureblood supremacists against those who believed in equality for all magical users. Lily and James joined Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix once they left school and took on the mantle of soldiers for the cause.

Lily found it all morbidly ironic, given that just barely thirty years earlier the world was at war against a very similar ideology. No one else in the Order found her comparison all that interesting, and Lily was once again reminded that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. It was becoming her private mantra during the war.

Hoping to turn the tide, Lily began to delve further into history—into civil wars, into world wars, tactics, anything that she could put to use and explain to the Order as brilliant tactics to win the war. However, despite her frantic search through the ages, it didn't seem like anyone other than her, and her husband's friends, were all too interested in her research. And every day the Order ignored her research, the more innocent, and not so innocent, died.

Despite the war, the two Potters were happy, juggling their real life jobs to what they did for the Order—which was labelled a vigilante group by the Ministry—and enjoying their time with their friends and family. Then one autumn day, Lily discovered she was pregnant.

On July 31, 1980, Lily Potter gave birth to her son. He already had a tuft of black hair that stuck up in numerous directions and his eyes had changed to emerald green very soon after his birth. Since Lily loved history, she officially named her son Henry James Potter, after the Plantagenet ruler, Henry V. But by the end of the week her husband's best friend and her sons' godfather, Sirius Black, was calling him 'Harry.'

Lily was quite happy to get back on her feet; they were in the middle of a war and being firmly stuck in bed for the final two months of her pregnancy with a hovering husband and his anxious best friends, all eager to meet and greet "Prongslet," had severely diminished her patience. She had several Charms and Potions experiments backlogged, and spent numerous hours daydreaming how to apply the tactics of Genghis Khan to magic.

Yet soon after she got back into her routine of research, spells, magic and her normal work for the Department of Magical Creatures in the Ministry, Lily learnt she was pregnant again. So on August 2, 1981, Edgar Charles Potter was born and Lily Potter firmly said, to her husband, enough was enough. Bringing any more children into the world during a war was not an option and several important tasks were put aside for the care and raising of her sons.

James agreed and decided that his work—being an Auror—could temporarily be put on hold while he went into full-out Daddy mode, and more than happy to take care of Harry and Edgar whenever Lily wanted to experiment in the lab underneath the house. And since James was going all out—as were Sirius and Remus Lupin—Lily was more than happy to let James name her youngest son Edgar after Poe.

Lily later learnt that James was a large horror literature fan, and _The Pit and the Pendulum_ was one of his favourite stories. His fascination with the gothic manifested itself after his parents' deaths, between the summer of his sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. During that time, James realised he wasn't immortal and despite having spent his earlier years at Hogwarts strutting about and swaggering, he needed to grow up and get a grip. Lily had responded to his mature outlook upon their return to Hogwarts, and seemed to even respect James's dark, black moods that he sometimes slipped into.

James and Lily Potter were quite happy with their position in life: they had two, beautiful, wonderful sons; they were madly in love; and they had fantastic friends. They weren't aware of the vague sense of impending doom as they dressed their two baby boys up for their first Halloween, and as the late night dragged on, and the Potter family settled down from a sugar high on October 31, 1981, both Lily and James Potter were completely unaware of their fate.

*

Lily though, was somewhat unsurprised to her James shout later that evening. She had felt the wards ripple and then completely drop, and in that instant she knew that Peter had betrayed them.

"Lily! Take Harry and Edgar! Run! He's here!"

The calm before the storm; waiting for the other shoe to drop; she had spent the past few months since Edgar's birth waiting for Voldemort to attack even if she logically knew that Sirius would not betray them. Peter Pettigrew though, could.

Both boys were already put down for the night in their shared crib, so she raced up the stairs with her heart beating loudly in her ears, ignoring the sound of splintering wood and James's hoarse cries as he battled Voldemort. She slammed the nursery door shut and began lobbing all the spells she knew at it, hoping against hope to wait out the attack until help could arrive.

Inwardly, she knew it was futile.

Harry was awake and watching her work, silent. Edgar was snuffling in his sleep, unaware of the dangers they were in, but Harry had always been an observant child. In those brief moments of eerie calm, Lily stared at her eldest son and heard Dumbledore's voice murmur through her mind.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord; born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. He will have the power the Dark Lord knows not, and marked as his equal; neither can live while the other survives, for either must die at the hand of the other. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…"_

She couldn't apparate out; she couldn't even Port-Key. There were too many wards surrounding Godric's Hallow that took effect as soon as Dumbledore's personal wards tied with the Fidelius fell. In that brief, stable moment, Lily felt a sudden, fiery rush of emotion spread through her body, warming her chilled hands and tingle her down to her toes.

She could protect her children, even if she couldn't protect James. Her research of past wars and tactics had her straying dangerously into an area of old, forgotten Druidic arts. One of the incantations she found mentioned the protection of a parent beyond death. A quickly murmured cutting curse to her left index finger had blood trickling up and, with Harry still watching her, she moved quickly to trace a jagged 's' shape on his forehead. A kiss on her sons' forehead and a murmured, lyrical phrase sealed the Druid spell.

Lily felt Voldemort's presence more than heard him dismantle her spells and wards, and within minutes the nursery door opened. She turned around to face him, after storing the loving faces of her children in her mind with that of her husband's, and stiffened her spine to face the Dark Lord.

He was tall, pale and had red eyes that made Lily think back to her Catholic upbringing of the Devil. In those last moments, she reverted back to her training before Hogwarts—if James could not stop him, how could she?

_The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…_

"Stand aside, you foolish girl. Stand aside."

_He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters…_

Lily pursed her lips, her grip tightening on her wand. "No, please," she said, urging him. "Take me, take me instead. Spare Harry and Edgar. Please, not my babies."

_He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake…_

It didn't matter.

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me._

The last thought Lily had before the green wash of _Avada Kedavra_ hit her was that of joining James, and wishing she could have done more to protect her sons.

*

**Tia Dalma**: "You have a touch of destiny about you, William Turner."

_Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_

*

_Chapter One_

"Up! Up, get up!"

Harry groaned and rolled onto his side, carefully aware of the slight snores coming from his younger brother, pressed up against the wall in the cupboard under the stairs.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia," called back Harry, inwardly reining his temper and counting to ten.

"Mm, Harry?" asked a tiny voice, drowsy and quiet in the dark cupboard. "'S it morning already?"

"Yeah, Eddy," answered the elder brother, "But you can go back to sleep, don't worry. I'll make sure you've got something to eat."

When his brother didn't answer, Harry carefully shuffled out of the cupboard and wandered into the kitchen to prepare the morning meal for the Dursley family.

Ever since he was little, and from before he could remember, Harry and his brother Edgar had lived with their mother's sister, Petunia Dursley. They shared the small semi with her husband, Vernon, and their cousin Dudley. He and Edgar were considered extra baggage and not worth anything, and were continuously placed in the cupboard under the stairs instead of treated like family and receiving a room of their own.

Harry fought for scraps of food and he did his best to ensure that Edgar always ate a good portion while foregoing what he could. The two brothers shared everything, even more than just their sleeping quarters: they both had their fathers' hair, an unruly mess of black, spiky cowlicks and both wore taped up spectacles. They both wore Dudley's hand-me-downs and cast-offs, and both worked on an unchanging list of chores to be done at the Dursley household.

There were some differences though; Harry had green eyes, and Edgar brown. Harry's nose was longer than his brother's, and Edgar's hair had an odd shade of reddish-brown that appeared whenever he was out in the summer.

Harry, being the elder brother, made sure Edgar was taken care of. Harry gave him what food he could smuggle, helped him with his homework, taught him to read, write, and where the best hiding spots at school and in the neighbourhood were. Harry protected Edgar fiercely—and whenever he was caught, he was sent to the principal's office for being in fights with the other students. Harry also encouraged Edgar to hide their intelligence from the Dursley's and cultivated his younger brother's love for books by leaving him often in the local library while he drew Dudley's attention.

No brother of his would participate in 'Harry Hunting.'

Over the years, with only each other to rely on, Harry and Edgar discovered that whenever they were overly emotional, things happened. Once, while drawing off Dudley and his friends, Harry ended up on the school roof. Edgar made a teacher's wig turn blue. Harry could speak with a garden snake he found at the abandoned lot by Harrogate Court; Edgar made a brick wall disappear once when he was running from neighbourhood bullies.

Neither knew what to make of their comic book superhero powers, but Edgar was convinced that their parents had come from the planet Krypton. Harry was far more sceptical, but humoured his brother's imagination. Instead, Harry found through trial and error that their Aunt and Uncle abhorred the word 'magic' and seemed frightened of anything supernatural or paranormal. Harry could only surmise that perhaps instead of being a whore and a drunken layabout, Lily and James Potter were actually gypsies or possibly New Age practitioners.

Maybe.

However, on that particular day in early July, something was about to change in the Dursley household and Harry and Edgar were about to receive their answers.

When fetching the mail, and leaving Edgar alone in the kitchen with the Dursleys (never a good idea, as Edgar was Dudley's favourite punching bag when Harry wasn't there), Harry noticed something odd: a letter addressed to _him_, Henry James Potter.

He was still contemplating it when he entered the kitchen, drawing Dudley's attention from a visibly upset and red Edgar.

"Dad! Look, Harry's got a letter!" cried Dudley, gleefully yanking the letter from his cousin's grip.

"Hey!"

"Who'd be writing to you?" chortled Vernon Dursley, his eyes turning from his proud son to the thick parchment. He ignored the rip at the corner of the envelope, and looked to the address. His eyes narrowed on the text "Cupboard Under the Stairs," as unease began to creep up his spine. Flipping it over, he saw the return address and froze.

"Love? Who's it from?" asked Petunia, laying a gentle hand over her husband's.

"That," Vernon sputtered, tossing the letter to the kitchen table, "That school."

There, written in flowing cursive in green ink, was _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

*

Vernon and Petunia had kicked Harry, Edgar and Dudley (much to their surprise) out of the kitchen almost immediately once they saw the return address on the letter. The boys then quickly arranged themselves to eavesdrop on the two adults. Vernon was all for packing the family up and running to escape _them_—whoever they were—but Petunia stood firm against leaving.

In the end, she gave Harry the letter and finally declared him a lost cause. She muttered under her breath, though, about how they had a year to still save Edgar, but she didn't think it was possible anymore.

Following the argument, she took Harry, Edgar and Dudley in Vernon's new car to the local shops where she ignored her sons' whining except to buy him an ice cream. Petunia bought new clothes for the two Potters, and had their eyes checked by the optometrist.

Both boys were further surprised when they returned to Privet Drive to find that they were no longer sleeping in the cupboard, but rather Dudley's spare toy room, which had been cleaned by Vernon.

There was a rather cramped bunk bed pushed up against the wall across from the single window, and the two boys were sharing a new wardrobe with new clothes. A five-tiered bookshelf with brand-new, never read books was snug between the wardrobe and far wall, and a single writing desk, with a plastic chessboard on it, along with a rickety chair, was up against the same wall as the bunk bed and bedside table.

The only item that they had claim to, something of their _own_, was the old plastic chess set that Edgar had smuggled out of the rubbish years ago after Dudley threw a fit. Years ago, Dudley had watched a documentary on television about the genius of chess masters and Vernon had it in his head to promote Dudley's intelligence from a young age. When it became apparent that there was nothing to cultivate, Dudley threw the plastic set against the wall of his room and Petunia put it out by the rubbish for collection.

Edgar had retrieved the chessboard and the only one piece that escaped the rubbish bin: the black king. With Harry's help, Edgar spent a few weeks reading up on chess in the library while Harry warded off Dudley and his friends. Edgar soon fell in love with the game and despite not having the rest of the chessmen, the two Potters claimed the chessboard as _theirs_.

From there, whenever a brother had a moment of success—never in school, but outside of it; outsmarting Dudley, finishing a difficult book in the library, avoiding detection when using their powers—the black king was given.

"Kings to you," one brother would say to the successful one. The metaphor tickled Edgar's humour, and Harry enjoyed the symbolism of a black king chess piece alluding to the two Potter brothers being more than pawns in a game, able to crown themselves with ultimate power and the ability to end any game if they played things carefully. In addition, the colour of the piece endeared itself to Harry's dark humour, as everyone on the street already thought the two Potters were delinquents thanks to the Dursley's rumour spreading—even if it were far from the truth… or perhaps not _that_ far off.

With their new purchases put away in the still relatively bare wardrobe, Edgar and Harry spent the remainder of the afternoon in their new room. They were wrapped in a used duvet from the linen cupboard, to replace their thin quilt from the cupboard under the stairs, rereading the letter Harry received.

"D'you think it's real?" asked Edgar, brown eyes alit with excitement, turning amber in the fading light.

"I think so," replied Harry, slowly, running his hands over the parchment and turning the opened envelope over and over in his hands. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were actually scared, Eddy—they wouldn't fake it over something that is a joke."

"So what does it say then?" asked Edgar, nudging his older brother with his shoulder.

Harry frowned and pulled out the two pieces of paper from the envelope and read them out loud.

"Dear Mr. Potter," he began, "We are pleased to inform you of your place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"

Edgar frowned. "What do they mean, 'we await your owl'?"

"I reckon that's how they talk to each other," answered Harry. "There's no telephone number or address to write to, anyway."

Edgar nodded, and then his frown deepened. "Why didn't I get an invite? Aren't I magical too? I make the same things happen."

Harry glanced down at his brother, feeling a tug in his heart. They had never been apart except for when Harry began school the same year as Dudley, with Edgar joining them a year later.

"I won't go unless you're coming too!" vowed Harry. He reread the letter, and then thought of something. "I bet you need to be eleven to go, Eddy. You'll probably have to wait until next year, but we'll ask."

Edgar grinned at his big brother, and snuggled firmly into his side. The two continued to dissect the letter, and wondered what the next steps were for Harry to enrol. They would find out soon enough.

*

Harry and Edgar were in the middle of drying the lunch dishes when the doorbell rang. Dudley was out of the house playing at Piers' and Vernon was at work, so Petunia decided to answer it herself.

Neither Harry nor Edgar thought much of the event until they heard their aunt shriek and slam the door shut. A few moments later, the doorbell rang again, and again, and finally, the well-oiled hinges swung open again.

Petunia appeared in the kitchen doorway a few seconds later, a pinched look on her face. "Boys? Could you… ah… please come with me to the reception room?"

Harry and Edgar shared a confused glance, but Harry placed the dish he was washing back into the sink and Edgar carefully placed his glass on the countertop.

Upon entering the reception room, Harry stopped so suddenly that Edgar crashed into his back; he ignored his younger brother's "sorry," though, his gaze caught on the man sitting on his aunt's couch.

"Ah! And you must be young Mr. Potter," the cheery man said, rising from his seat, although struggling and leaning heavily against a walking cane. Edgar peered around Harry's slightly larger frame with undisguised curiosity, causing the man's jovial expression to change to surprise. "Oho! And this must be the younger Potter."

"Yes," answered Harry for his brother, narrowing his eyes. "And you are…?"

The salt-and-pepper haired man smiled genially. "Ashley Kettleburn, professor of care of magical creatures at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded slowly, stepping further into the reception room with Edgar still hovering behind him and Petunia just off to the side, staring at the fireplace mantle. Kettleburn wasn't too old—Harry reckoned him to be a decade or so older than Vernon, making him fifty or so—and seemed to be an alright fellow, if not for the numerous scars, his missing lower left leg and several fingers on his right, and the roguish eye patch he wore.

"Pleasure," replied Harry finally. "How may I help you, Professor?"

Kettleburn rocked back on his heels as best as he could with one artificial leg, chortling. "Well, someone has to take you to Diagon Alley to help you purchase your school supplies, don't they?"

"I haven't any money," answered Harry, who cut a quick eye at his aunt. "And I won't be receiving any either from my relatives."

Kettleburn frowned. "Well, you've got your own, of course; your parents did set up a trust fund for your schooling, Mr. Potter. That is, for you and your brother."

Edgar decided to no longer remain silent and excitedly asked, "Will I be attending Hogwarts too, sir?"

Kettleburn laughed. "Not this year, young Mr. Potter. You're a year shy of receiving your entrance letter, although I do know you will be attending. Both your names have been down since your births."

"Can I join you and Harry, though?" he continued, eyes alight. "To this Diagon Alley?"

"I don't see why not," smiled Kettleburn, "as long as your aunt agrees."

Both Harry and Edgar knew she would agree to anything to get the two Potters out of her house, even if it was temporary. With her permission, Kettleburn quickly instructed Harry to fetch his letter, and Edgar retrieved light jackets for chilly summer evenings, and soon the trio were out of the Dursley residence and standing in the middle of the street.

"Watch carefully and do not leave my side," instructed Kettleburn sternly, raising his free arm, with his wand in hand.

A loud _crack_ later, and a bright purple, triple-decker bus was swerving around the corner screeching to a stop in front of them.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, transportation for the stranded witch or wizard," a bored-looking conductor was reciting as the doors hissed open.

"Hello," greeted Kettleburn. "Three to the Leaky Cauldron, please."

"Ah, hello Professor!" the conductor smiled pleasantly. "More firsties?"

"Yes," the elderly man replied, ushering Harry and Edgar onto the bus but urging them to keep their heads down. Harry gingerly set himself in the seat Kettleburn pointed out, Edgar beside him. He remembered how violently the bus appeared and murmured to his brother, "hang on tight!"

Edgar obeyed, wrapping his hands around the chair's armrests and gripped tightly, enough for his knuckles to turn white. However, seconds later there's another loud _bang_ and he was glad he listened, as he was nearly thrown back into his seat.

Kettleburn began explaining the Hogwarts letter. "Now, as a first year, Mr. Potter, you cannot bring a broom to fly," he started, sternly. Harry just glanced at him askance, as if wondering why he'd bring something to clean with anyway. "First years need their books, protective gear for potions, as well as potions supply, and their uniforms." Here, the professor stopped and looked at the hand-me-down clothing that Harry and Edgar were wearing. "Perhaps we'll make that our first stop after retrieving your money?"

"About that," began Harry hesitantly. "Can my relatives use it, or is it just for me an' Eddy?"

"Edgar and I," corrected Kettleburn absently, as he stroked his chin in thought. "I'm quite sure that it's only for the two of you."

Kettleburn chose to ignore the two sighs of relief coming from the Potter brothers, but privately wondered what he was going to say to his employer once the trip was complete.

*

The Leaky Cauldron had been busy and nearly packed with the early dinner crowd, as well as several parents taking their children around to buy school supplies. Both Edgar and Harry were incredibly surprised to see so many magical people in one area, but at Kettleburn's firm directions they kept their heads down and eyes averted to not draw attention to themselves.

The first stop after several moments of gawking at Diagon Alley, was to Gringott's Bank. Harry and Edgar were speechless once they saw the amount of gold in their vault, and soon Edgar was taking charge, asking the goblin Griphook about shares and stakes, interest rates and the family portfolio. The goblin was quite taken aback by the youngest Potters' questions at first, but then began answering in a prompt fashion. Harry never had the head for maths, but Edgar was quite taken with numbers and the eldest Potter was more than happy to let his baby brother handle their monetary affairs.

Kettleburn was quietly amused.

After both boys collected a moleskin pouch for their shopping—Harry argued quite sternly for Edgar having money of his own, in both Galleons and pounds—Kettleburn led the two towards Madam Malkins, explaining the House system at Hogwarts. Both boys were sceptical of it, having never been separated like that before in an education system.

"Each house, of course, has its own merits," said Kettleburn, limping slightly as he took a fast clip towards the clothing store. "Gryffindors are the brave and foolhardy; Hufflepuffs the hardworking and loyal; Ravenclaws the studious and quiet; and Slytherins are the ambitious and cunning." The wizard paused. "You'll find that there is prejudice against each other by another, but nothing so strong as that between the Gryffindors and Slytherins."

"How come?" asked Edgar, pensively.

"The Dark Lord," here Kettleburn cast a nervous glance about before lowering his voice to speak the name, "Voldemort studied at Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin." As Kettleburn reached the door for Madam Malkins, he paused long enough to look at both boys and say, "And both your parents were Gryffindors. They'll expect you two to be the same."

Harry frowned; who was this 'they' Kettleburn mentioned? And why would anyone have any expectations about Edgar? About _him_?

He didn't have a chance to ask the professor, because he and Edgar were ushered into the clothing store.

"Another one for Hogwarts dear?" asked a white-haired witch in black robes. "I've another here, just step on the stool, love."

Harry did as directed, watching Edgar and Kettleburn out of the corner of his eye as the two began to discuss Kettleburn's class. Harry quirked a tiny smile; Edgar was doing Harry's job: asking all the questions and receiving all the answers. Yet Harry was glad of this, as it allowed him to observe and make judgments without revealing his own thoughts.

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" drawled a voice beside him.

Harry's attention turned to the voice. The other boy was short and skinny like Harry, draped in a swath of black fabric while a tape measurer, scissors, pins and thread were flying about him without hands, pining here and cutting there.

"Yes," replied Harry, his head tilted towards the boy. Across from him was a large floor to ceiling mirror that allowed him to also keep an eye on Edgar.

"What House do you think you'll be in?" continued the boy, a tiny light of something appearing in his eye despite the affected, drawling bored tone he adopted. _Prep school_, Harry automatically classed him as. _Poor thing probably doesn't even know he's associating with a townie like myself_.

Harry had several experiences back in Little Whinging with those who did not attend Little Whinging's public elementary school. Vernon and Petunia had tried to have Dudley enrolled in St. Christopher's but Dudley didn't pass any of the entrance tests (Vernon then declared it a sissy school, but even Harry could see the disappointment in his eyes). Not a single student from St. Christopher's ever willingly associated with those at Little Whinging.

The boy had continued speaking. "My whole family's been Slytherin, so I'd like to be there; Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, I suppose." He gave a tiny shudder. "Oh, could you imagine Hufflepuff? I'd leave!"

"From what I understand about the House system, it's not so much your choice other than where the hat places you based on your personality," said Harry, finally contributing.

"A hat?" the boy looked shocked for a moment. "You mean I wear a _hat_ to be _sorted_?"

Harry gave a tiny smile. His voice automatically adopted the same tonality as the other boy. "I just learnt myself. I don't think it's actually supposed to be common knowledge, but my brother managed to weasel it out of our guide."

A general hand wave towards Kettleburn and Edgar had the boy's silver eyes drift in that direction. Numerous expressions flickered on the face of the boy, as he struggled to find something to say.

"Your guide?" the boy finally settled on something.

"Our parents are dead," offered Harry, simply.

"Oh. Sorry," the boy said, awkwardly, as if he didn't know what to quite say, and therefore not sure if he meant it or not. "They were our kind, though, weren't they?" his tone may not have said anything, but Harry saw the silver eyes flicker up and down his clothing, settling on the large jeans and baggy jacket.

Harry's eyes narrowed. _Ah, the prejudice_, he thought. "They were witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

The boy nodded, accepting Harry's words. He then seemed to brighten. "My father's looking at brooms and my mother's looking at wands. It's a shame, I think, to not allow first years' brooms! Maybe I can smuggle one in?"

"I doubt you're the first to think of it, and I'm sure there are rules against first years having brooms for a reason," Harry pointed out, "although I reckon it's possible to cleverly disguise, or just have your parents send it to you once you're settled in. Then, you can always say you didn't '_bring it_' like the letter says. It was sent to you."

The boy looked thoughtful. "I didn't think of that."

Harry gave a tiny smile, lifting an arm as Madam Malkin came back over, checking on their progress. "You're all finished, dear," she said to the silver-eyed boy.

He hopped off the stool, pausing at Harry. "I'll see you on the train, then?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed noncommittally. His interaction with the boy told him that he and Edgar had to learn much about the magical world before Harry even thought about the train ride up to the school.

"Goodbye then!"

Madam Malkin finished with Harry's robes, and then began on a new wardrobe of jeans, jumpers, trousers, and vests for him and Edgar.

"Who was that then?" his brother asked, looking up at him with his brown eyes, as he stood on the stool the other boy vacated.

"Not a clue," replied Harry, "just someone starting Hogwarts like me this year."

Edgar frowned. "You didn't get his name?"

"I didn't want to," answered Harry. He cut a look at his brother. "We need books, Eddy."

Edgar stilled, his entire body going rigid. The last time Harry had said they needed books, was when he started primary school and Harry a year into the system. After a year of being yelled at for his grades, Harry had to hide his intelligence and never do better than Dudley. He wanted Edgar to be spared the pain and humiliation that Dudley and the Dursleys showed him over the course of his first school year. He told Edgar to learn everything he wanted but to never get everything right in class; to learn independently from books in the library instead of in class.

Edgar glanced up at his brother, and caught the emerald eyes, which were gazing steadily back at him. "Okay," he said.

*

The rest of the trip was uneventful. They didn't run into any other prospective students at Ollivander's when Harry got his wand. Edgar watched the process eagerly; barely able to restrain himself for his turn, but the youngest Potter still felt a chill when Ollivander mentioned that he sold the wand that gave Harry his lightening bolt scar. They boys were clearly missing something.

Harry's trip to the apothecary was short and simple, and Kettleburn stepped in to ensure that Harry received a full kit instead of a standard Hogwarts issue. The boys were then at Flourish and Blott's, where Kettleburn fully expected the two to take several hours after Edgar's inquisitive and blunt comments on the wizarding world.

Besides the standard grade one texts, Harry and Edgar decided to buy books that caught their fancy despite the grade level, in order to learn more about the magical world. Edgar strayed more towards history and theory texts, picking up _Dark Wizards Throughout the Ages_, _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, _The Wizard World: this Millennium_, and _An Introductory Guide to Spellcasting and Magic_.

Harry, however, was primarily focusing on learning about protecting himself and Edgar from Dudley and the Dursleys, and anyone else. He picked up _1001 Hexes and Curses_, _Spells You Wish You Knew Then to Protect Yourself Now_, _Mind Magic_, _Defensive Wards_, and even a third year book on Runes, if only because on the cover was a rune shaped similarly to his scar.

Their last stop was to Magical Menagerie, where Kettleburn suggested the Potters buy an owl so they could keep in contact while Harry was at Hogwarts. They agreed, seeing the wisdom in it despite the pain that having magical items would bring them at number four.

Edgar chose a snowy white owl with golden eyes. Harry, who was gathering biscuits and water trays for the owl and shoving them at Edgar while he tried to move a large perch, stopped when a hiss distracted him. Edgar, who was only a few steps ahead, glanced back when he realised that Harry stopped.

"Harry?" he asked, curious.

"Shh," replied Harry, kneeling in front of a glass tank, peering intently into foliage of green leaves and bark. His voice was almost dreamy, his expression peaceful. Edgar sighed; he knew that expression.

The younger Potter knelt beside Harry and peered into the tank as well, his keen eyes searching for—there, scales and a slow movement designed to hide the predator from its prey. "The letter doesn't say anything about bringing a snake, Harry."

"Eddy," began Harry, patiently, "Isn't he beautiful?"

The snake was quite good looking, Edgar thought, black and brown with lighter brown spots like a leopard, with a heavy body and small head. Edgar glanced at the plaque beside it: _Python Regius_, _age 2._

"At least he's not venomous," sighed Edgar, glancing at his brother. "Are you going to get him? I know you've always wanted one since that incident at the zoo."

"Like you said, Eddy, snakes aren't on the list," sighed Harry, still staring at the snake who now noticed the stranger on the other side of the glass. The snake was clearly debating whether he was in danger or not, slowly drawing into itself, its tail tucked in the middle of its coiled body.

"_I won't hurt you_," hissed Harry, and Edgar did a quick glance around to ensure no one was around. His brothers' talent to naturally speak to snakes manifested itself early on, but it wasn't until earlier that year when he helped a boa constrictor escape from the London Zoo that Harry took a stronger interest in the species. He had, however, managed to teach Edgar enough to follow a conversation at a basic level, as though it were a foreign language.

The snake lifted its head, and around them in the other tanks, snakes were appearing from their hiding places. "_You speak?_" the python hissed back, his tongue flickering out, drawing out his 's'.

Edgar shifted on his heels. "_We both speak_."

The snake reared back quickly, coiling tightly into a ball, although its head was still visible—he was curious. "_Have you come for us, Master?_"

Harry grimaced at the title. "_I will try_." He opened his mouth to say more, but the snake immediately coiled tight into a ball and hid its head in the middle of the coil. Both boys looked up at the magical creatures' professor.

Kettleburn smiled down at the two. "I see you've found the snake section," he began, looking into the tanks. "Most avoid this area because of You-Know-Who. He was rumoured to have a black mamba."

Edgar rose to his feet and shuffled the owl's items to a more comfortable position. "Harry?" he asked, "Are you coming?"

"Mmm?" replied the elder Potter, still gazing at the snake.

Kettleburn watched silently, glancing between the two Potters as Edgar tried again. "_Henry_, we've to go."

Harry responded to his birth name, sighing as he rose and gently touching the glass of the tank in goodbye and apology. As he passed Kettleburn, the man stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

"What do you know about pythons, Harry?" the man asked.

"Nothing I can't learn from a book," replied the young wizard, cheekily.

Kettleburn's mouth twitched into a smile as he glanced back at the snake, which was now uncoiling as he felt the danger had passed. "The _python regius_ is a non-venomous snake from Africa. Likes grasslands, savannahs and wooded areas, and eats small rodents while juveniles feed sometimes on birds."

Edgar gave a startled squeak here, and clutched the owl's items closer. Kettleburn gave a tiny chuckle. "Your owl is too large to be of interest to a young python, young Mr. Potter."

Edgar sighed and Harry turned back to the tank, a small smile on his face. "May I?" he asked.

Kettleburn hesitated a moment before nodding. "You'll have to prove to me you can handle him, Mr. Potter. For the first year at Hogwarts I will want to see you at my office every Friday evening telling me everything you've learnt about your snake. While the _python regius_ is a popular pet, due to their docile nature around humans, they can refuse to eat and end up with parasitic infections if you don't take care of them."

"I can do it," Harry stubbornly insisted. "I can take care of him."

Kettleburn nodded, once, and then motioned for a Magical Menagerie sales assistant to gather the necessary items for Harry's purchase. He turned to the front of the store, with Edgar following him to purchase the owl and snake together.

"_I'm taking you home_," said Harry to the snake, which was hidden behind some branches. "_Are you okay with that?_"

The snakes' head appeared, briefly, from behind the bark. "_For you? Yes._"

Harry smiled.

*

Kettleburn gave Harry explicit instructions on how to gain entrance to Platform 9¾ and then told both boys to owl him with any questions on the care of their pets. He also left them with the instructions of their shrunken packages, and that a single tap from Harry's wand would enlarge them without bringing down the Ministry or break the underage restriction of magic.

"Also start reading into some of your classes," the wizard said. "Particularly potions." Kettleburn looked as though he was going to say more but then changed his mind.

The two Potters went to their room, upon returning to Privet Drive, while Kettleburn remained a moment longer to speak with the Dursleys. After a moment, they heard the front door open and from their window saw Kettleburn walk slowly down the pavement.

Edgar had already started tapping some of their packages with Harry's wand, specifically the books. Several were on their bookshelf along with the non-magical classics, and Edgar already had one put aside on the desk for future reading.

Harry was working on the perch for their owl, and the glass tank for his snake. The perch was moved directly beside the window, in a tiny space where the bookshelf failed to meet the wall, and the water tray was clipped to the perch.

Unsure of where to place the tank for his python, Harry finally turned to the snake himself, curled loosely on the lower bunk of the bed and asked. "_Where would you like your tank to be?_"

The snake looked up and Edgar glanced only briefly over before turning to Harry's school trunk to unshrink it and shove it at the foot of their bunk bed. He then began piling Harry's first year texts and potions kit in the trunk.

"_Near the window, I think. By the light_."

Harry looked around and bit his lip. "_Is the top of the bookshelf okay?_"

Both Harry and the snake looked in the direction, while Edgar's owl from beside the bookshelf looked back at them warily. The bookshelf wasn't too high—Harry could easily lift the tank on the thick, flat top of it while standing on the chair the Dursleys provided for the desk—but the proximity to Edgar's owl worried the eldest Potter.

Edgar joined the conversation as he began placing their new wizard robes in the wardrobe. "_You won't eat her, will you?_"

The snake hissed in annoyance. "_No._"

Edgar shrugged. "I don't see a problem, Harry."

"Fine," replied Harry, dragging the desk chair over the bookshelf and lifting the tank carefully on top. He then added the items Kettleburn said would be best for the snake's environment and tapped a small rune on the tank which would replicate the right amount of heat for the snake to enjoy.

Slowly the purchases from Diagon Alley were sorted and stored. Harry's trunk was by the door and at the end of the bed for easy access once he left for Hogwarts, while Edgar's was under the desk.

Edgar finally decided on naming their shared owl Iris, after the Greek goddess who was a messenger to the Gods (despite Harry bemoaning that everyone will tell him that it's wrong, and it should be Mercury or Hermes), and Harry decided on Caesar as the name for his snake.

"Why?" asked Edgar, that evening as Harry settled into the bottom bunk and Edgar the top.

"Because legend has it that Cleopatra wore a _python regius_ around her wrist, and she was Julius Caesar's consort before Antony," explained Harry.

Edgar was sceptical. "Well, tell him to avoid any Brutus's you come across then."

*

Harry and Edgar spent the month leading up to September the 1st by going over Harry's textbooks, and quizzing each other. _Edgar_, thought Harry, was going to be spectacular in his first year thanks to all the prep Harry was giving him.

On that September morning, Harry and Edgar woke early to pack Harry's things in his trunk. Several textbooks had been moved from the bookshelf to the desk to the floor, and the room was rather messy in comparison to the spotless condition it had been when they first moved into the room.

The two developed a single phrase for Edgar to send to Harry if there were any problems at the Dursleys, which Harry didn't believe there would be with the threat of magic hanging over them. Finally, they decided that Iris would stay with Edgar at the Dursleys, and Harry would use a school owl to send his first letter to his brother, about which house he was sorted into.

Harry decided to wear his uniform of black trousers, white vest, button-up shirt and tie to King's Cross, with Caesar hidden between his button-up Oxford and vest, enjoying his human's body heat. Below the tie, a button was left undone for Caesar if he wanted to peak out of Harry's shirt.

"Are you ready?" asked Edgar, standing in front of his brother and fixing his tie. Harry looked over Edgar's shoulder into the wardrobe mirror, hung on the back of one of the wooden doors that they had left open while he was getting ready.

"I don't have a choice," smiled Harry.

Edgar frowned. "You don't _have_ to go."

"I couldn't stay, either, though."

Edgar sighed. "I'm going to miss you, Harry."

Harry smiled at his brother, gently, and hugged him tightly. "I'll miss you too, Eddy."

"Write as soon as you can," the younger Potter demanded, sternly. "I want to know _everything_ about Hogwarts."

Harry laughed and stepped back, smoothing a nervous hand down the front of his Oxford in an attempt to hide the fidget. "How do I look?"

Edgar smiled. "Like gold." Edgar walked a few steps over to the writing desk, and picked up the single chessman. He fingered the smooth, cool plastic king for a moment, before turning back to his brother and offering the piece. "Kings to you, Henry."

Harry took the piece solemnly. "Tell me everything that happens back here, Edgar. I'll want to know of your conquests."

"Oh, of course," grinned Edgar, his dark brown eyes turning a shade darker with an emotion Harry could easily recognise. "You can't be king forever, Harry. And this dark knight will be waiting for his turn."

*

Platform 9¾ was the stupidest thing Harry ever heard of in his life. Kettleburn had been very exact in where it was, but Harry spent at least ten minutes staring at the brick wall in disbelief and steadily increasing incredibility.

"_You must be joking_," he unconsciously hissed, and Caesar, barely poking out from behind his Hogwarts issued tie, chimed in.

"_Are you sure you want to go to this Hogwarts, Henry?_"

Harry heaved a silent sigh. He had managed to get Caesar to stop calling him 'master,' but it seemed that his snake was very particular about names and after learning the history behind his. He decided that calling Harry by his diminutive name while he had such a "regal" name, such as Caesar's own, was ludicrous. Since then, Caesar preferred calling both Potters by their proper names: Henry and Edgar, despite their bandying about of 'Harry' and 'Eddy.'

"_Yeah—it gets Eddy and I out of the Dursleys, Caesar_."

Although, now that Harry was thinking about it, it might not be worth the effort. He was _not_ running straight into a seemingly brick wall.

"Are you alright, love?"

Harry jumped, startled and cursing himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. A glance over his shoulder though had him turn fully to face the tall, stately woman in a summer print dress. Beside her was a slightly shorter man, more ruddy-faced with a jovial expression and muddy-coloured hair. A young boy, probably thirteen, was standing just slightly behind them and struggling with the strap to his owl's cage.

Harry's stomach swooped. They were magical.

"I'm, er," Harry paused, trying to regain his speech without stuttering. "I've been told how to get onto the Platform but I'm…" he trailed off, with a meaningful glance at the brick wall.

"Oh, don't worry about it, love," the woman reassured with a gentle smile. "Cedric will help you, won't you dear?" the final bit was directed at the teen, who looked up automatically.

The boy, Harry could already tell, was going to be one of those popular rugby players when he was older. He had his father's shorter, broader build but his mother's sandy-blond hair and her silver eyes. Harry was reminded of the other very blond haired boy he met at Madam Malkins.

"Sure," the boy grinned, sticking a hand out for Harry to shake. "Cedric Diggory."

Harry reached out, shaking the hand. "Henry. But everyone calls me Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry. Are you Muggleborn? Has anyone explained about the train and the houses?" Cedric continued speaking, lining his trolley up beside Harry's, and motioning for the boy to walk beside him towards the brick wall.

Although nervous, Harry trusted Cedric's actions and followed the older boy. "I'm not Muggleborn, but I grew up in the non-magical world. Professor Kettleburn showed my brother and me around Diagon Alley and he explained the houses."

"Your brother?" asked Cedric, pleasantly. "Is he joining you this year?"

"No," said Harry, tensing as the wall appeared closer, despite the slow walk the two were taking. "Eddy's a year younger."

Cedric grinned, leaning forward and Harry shut his eyes, ignoring Caesar's hiss of _"wall Henry!_" Cedric did not stop, though, and even found the time to ask, "Eddy?"

"Edgar," answered Harry absently, opening his eyes and then pausing in shock. He was on the other side of the Platform, staring at a large, old fashioned, red steam engine train. "_Bloody hell_."

Cedric grinned over his shoulder at Harry, and tugged him gently by his Oxford's sleeve. "Best not stand there, Harry—you'll never know who'll come up behind you and give you a good scare!"

"Right," answered the black-haired boy, nodding in surprise and following Cedric toward the train.

Cedric pointed out a free compartment and helped Harry store his trunk. "Did you want company? I can stay with you if you'd like."

Harry smiled genuinely at the offer. Cedric Diggory seemed like a good sort, and Harry didn't want to lose a budding friendship after his name was announced at the sorting. It was the first thing he and Edgar had searched for after Kettleburn's numerous attempts to keep them hidden from the general public at Diagon Alley. Harry being labelled 'the Boy Who Lived', thanks to their parents' deaths, made the eldest Potter brother leery of stating anything more than his name. However, the majority of the texts only wrote about "Harry Potter", and left off his true birth name of Henry. There was also very little mention of Edgar.

"Sure," said Harry, finally. "But if you want to find your friends at any time, don't let me stop you."

"That's fine," agreed Cedric, settling across from Harry on the plush seat. "They'll find me, or I'll see them later anyway in Hufflepuff."

A smile drew across Harry's face. "Hufflepuff! What's it like then?"

Cedric playfully scowled. "We're not duffers like everyone else says, first off," he began, waggling a finger at Harry. "We work hard and have fun and take care of each other. Hufflepuffs tend to stay out of things, avoiding confrontation. It's not because we're scared, but because we don't get involved. Most of the school just pitches the Gryffindors against the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws think they're above them. It's nice staying hidden."

Harry sighed. "Somehow I doubt I'll be given that luxury in whatever house I'm in."

"Why?" asked Cedric, settling back. The two ignored the shrill whistle as the train signalled its final call, and the noises of parents shouting their goodbyes.

Harry tilted his head. "I didn't give you my last name, did I?" he said, hedging.

Cedric nodded slowly.

"It's Potter," said Harry, finally.

The Hufflepuff went, "ah," and settled back in the seat, gazing at Harry for a moment. Finally, he said, "Well… best of luck then, Harry. This years' sorting will be squiffy then."

Harry groaned and slid down his seat. "You reckon?"

Cedric grinned at the younger boy. "Oh, quite."

The two settled into a friendly conversation about Hogwarts for several hours until the trolley lady came by with some snacks. Cedric said he was off to find his friends, and told Harry to come and find him if there were any problems.

Left alone, Harry idly stroked his shirt where Caesar rested underneath, and pulled out a book to read. Only a few pages in, however, his compartment door opened and Harry was greeted by the silver-eyed blond from Madam Malkins.

"They're saying Harry Potter's on the train," he began, looking right at Harry. "I suppose that's you?"

Harry paused, placing his book down. "Pardon?"

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he continued, stepping in. "I never got your name at Madam Malkins."

"Ah," said Harry, "you're right. I'm Harry Potter."

Draco smiled and held out his hand for Harry to shake, which, after a moment, Harry took. "You should come back to my compartment and meet some friends of mine."

Harry smiled thinly. "Thank you, but I'm already sitting with someone. He's gone off to find some of his friends."

"Oh?" asked Draco, "What house is he in?"

"Does it matter?" replied Harry, curious. He folded his hands over his book.

Draco nodded. "Of course! What house you're in will define you at Hogwarts. It could make all the difference."

"Hmm," was all Harry offered.

When it was clear that Harry was not going to say anything more, Draco made a few more attempts to draw Harry out of the compartment to explore the Hogwarts Express, but Harry politely turned the offers down without completely disregarding Draco's offers. Finally, the blond left with a polite, "see you later," that Harry echoed.

Harry turned back to his book. He was fairly sure that Cedric wouldn't return before reaching the school. He only got a few more pages in when a boy with stringy sandy, light brown hair poked his head in, his mossy green eyes darting from one end of the compartment to the other. Harry watched him with undisguised amusement.

"May I help you?" he asked, watching as the boy eased his way into the compartment.

"Malfoy's not been by yet, has he?"

Harry smiled. "He has, actually."

The boy sighed in relief and moved fully into the compartment, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Our fathers are friends, and he's been trying to hunt me down and get me to join him in his compartment. I've only barely escaped with my life. I think I lost him by the toilets."

Here, Harry grinned. "Good for you. I doubt he'll be back after I already turned him down, too."

The boy grinned at Harry and settled into the seat across from him. "Merlin, he was driving me spare." He glanced at Harry's book and asked, "How are you finding _1001_?"

"It's pretty good, actually. A bit too vague though, only listing the hexes and curses and not really delving into the theory or history behind them as I wanted," explained Harry, relaxing. The boy hadn't even asked his name or introduced himself.

The boy nodded, relaxing into the plush red seats. The two began to discuss the various books they've read, moving on to discuss what they knew of Hogwarts and their experiences with others on the train.

"Diggory? Really?" the boy across from him—he still hadn't given a name—scrunched his nose up a bit in surprise and slight disgust.

Harry nodded, suddenly wary. "He didn't have to explain anything, but he did."

The boy nodded, slowly. "Nice of him, I guess." The boy paused, and suddenly sharp eyes were zeroing in on Harry.

Harry could see the wheels spinning in his brain; wondering just who Harry was, what his background was; was he Pureblood, or Mudblood?

Before anything could be said, the compartment door slid open and Cedric Diggory stumbled into the room, hair askew and cheeks flushed, his mouth in a wide grin. He stilled, slightly, at the tension in the air, and turned to Harry, asking, "All right there, Henry?"

Harry nodded, suddenly very grateful for Cedric using his birth name instead of the one that everyone knew. The boy across from him slowly sank back, as if exhaling a sigh—of relief, or something else, Harry didn't know.

Cedric nodded politely at the other boy. "Nott."

"Diggory."

The two got on well enough, with Cedric sitting next to Harry on his side of the compartment seat. Cedric pulled out his Hufflepuff nature and extended a metaphorical hand of friendship to the other boy and began chatting. "I saw Malfoy up at the front of the train. He's holding court with a few other firsties, and imagine my surprise when I didn't see you or Zabini." Cedric paused. "Well, Zabini's always really been a loner, so it's no surprise he wouldn't consider allying with Malfoy."

Nott nodded—Harry wondered at his first name—and answered Cedric's comments. "I ducked in here to avoid him."

As Cedric's head turned to Harry, he jumped in: "He'd already been by, Cedric. I met him at Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley when I was getting my books and robes."

Cedric grinned. "And his impression on you…?"

Harry just smirked in reply.

"So which House do you think you'll be sorted into?" asked Cedric, relaxing.

"Not sure yet," answered Harry, while Nott said, "Probably Ravenclaw or Slytherin."

Cedric nodded, at both young teens. He then jerked his chin at Nott and then the window. "You'd best get into your uniform, Nott—we'll be there soon."

Both boys glanced out the window, startled at the darkened skies and elongated shadows as the train continued to steam through a thick forest and empty pastures.

Nott nodded, and mumbled a quick 'excuse me' while he left to the toilets to change. Cedric immediately turned Harry and nearly demanded, "Did he ask your name yet?"

Harry shook his head. "I think he was about to, when you came in. What do I need to know?"

Cedric smirked; it was a look that startled Harry because he didn't think he'd ever see such a dark look on the handsome boy's face. Harry knew Cedric was intelligent enough, as he didn't comment on Harry's name other than to comment on the sorting, and then carefully steered conversation away from the Boy-Who-Lived title and myth.

"His name is Theodore Nott, only child to Theodore Nott, senior. He's a junior, but I wouldn't ever call him that if you can avoid it," said Cedric, his words clipped and fast, low and meant to be spoken in confidence. "There are a lot of rumours around the family; his mother hung herself from the family estate's ballroom when Nott was five and his father was thought to be a Death Eater, a servant of You-Know-Who's. Gossip seems to lean towards Mrs. Nott having a lot of bruises and a very timid personality—you can figure out the rest. Nott senior remarried barely a year later, but the woman's a shrew and my mother tends to avoid the society events when the new Mrs. Nott is out. The woman's a bitch, frankly, but don't go around repeating it. With two strong, dominant personalities, I'm not sure where Nott'll fall—if he leans more towards the Pureblood traditions his father favours, or elsewhere, especially once he learns your real name."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He and Edgar had done quite a bit of reading about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and Harry was sure that any friends he'd make at Hogwarts—and he used the term 'friends' loosely at the moment—would either be very true friends or those who sought to use him for other purposes. At the moment, Harry couldn't reason out why Cedric would help him—he was older, intelligent, and popular, what would he need Harry for?—and thus firmly settled the Diggory heir into a "true friend" category.

Nott, however, Harry could see him falling either way. If he truly disliked his home life, the two could easily form a bond over it; life at the Dursley's was hardly chocolate cake, either. But if the boy was raised to be like his father, a Death Eater, Harry would probably have to go against him one day and he wasn't keen on making enemies just yet.

"Sickle for them?" asked Cedric, nudging Harry in the side.

"Just wondering if I should tell him my name, or not," answered Harry.

"Everyone'll know soon enough," the older boy replied, pragmatically. "Your choice though." He hesitated, as if wondering to suggest something.

Harry noticed. "Say it. I trust your judgement, Cedric."

Cedric smiled at Harry. "He's not sitting with Malfoy—that's a good sign, Harry."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"_Our fathers are friends, and he's been trying to hunt me down and get me to join him in his compartment. I've only barely escaped with my life."_

"He didn't want to sit with him. I doubt Nott knew who I was when he walked in, too," said Harry slowly.

Cedric stretched and yawned a bit. "Your choice then." He closed his eyes and lazily looked out from underneath them.

Harry nodded, distracted, and while doing so the compartment door slid open and Nott stumbled in, cursing under his breath as the robe's bottom hem caught in the door while he slid it shut.

Harry grinned. "Bit of trouble there?"

Nott mock-glared at him. "I'd ask for help, but somehow I think you'd just gloat."

"Quite right!"

Nott settled opposite of Harry, nodding to Cedric who dipped his chin in greeting. Harry saw him fidget, and then finally said, "I never caught your name or introduce myself. I'm," here he licked his lips in a blatant nervous manner, "Theo… Theodore Nott." A distasteful, bitter smile crept onto his face for a moment as he finished. "Junior."

Harry nodded and took the offered hand in his, feeling similar calluses on the finger pads and palms. "I'm Henry Potter, or as everyone else calls me, Harry."

Nott paused, briefly, minutely, while shaking Harry's hand, but continued through with the motion. "Pleasure," he said, sounding very grown-up.

"Likewise," answered Harry, curling his lips into a wry smirk.

Theo's eyes slid to Cedric, who was watching the two, silently. "Oh, I already knew, Nott. Not my place to say anything, is it?"

Theo nodded, but Harry's gaze sharpened on the Hufflepuff. _Oh, how you lie, Diggory. You _did_ say quite enough while he was out. Aren't you a smart one?_

A whistle blew, cutting through the air and an excitable murmur rose from outside the compartment. The train began to slow and Harry glanced out of it.

"Hogsmeade," Cedric said, as both boys gapped in surprise at the dark train station. "You'll be able to visit it in your third year." He rose, and Harry and Theo turned to look at him. "Time for you to get to Hogwarts, and get sorted."

*

Harry and Theo stood side-by-side, near the back of the group of first year students, waiting for Professor McGonagall to return. They had shared their boat ride with a pudgy-faced girl Theo knew as Pansy Parkinson and a silent, moody girl by the name of Lisa Turpin, who avoided Pansy.

Harry spent the silent ride contemplating Cedric's whispered goodbye: "Be careful what you choose, Harry, but know that whichever house you go to, I'm your friend. Yours, and your brothers'."

When McGonagall did return, and began to shuffle the nervous first years into the Great Hall, Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that the only person who he was interested in pleasing was back in Surrey.

He watched in feigned disinterest who was sorted where, but made a note of each face and their house association.

He clapped politely when everyone was sorted, but made a bit more effort when Mafloy, Draco was declared a Slytherin, and whispered "good luck," to Theo before he took his turn… and was sorted to Slytherin as well.

Finally…

"Potter, Henry!"

_"Henry did she say?"_

_"Do you think she means Harry Potter?"_

_"THE Harry Potter? Where is he?"_

Harry stepped forward, and glanced up at McGonagall as she smiled slightly and dropped the hat on his head. There was silence, and then: "Well, well. You are _not_ what I was expecting."

The voice was coming from everywhere and nowhere, and considering that he hadn't heard any other comments from those being sorted, he assumed it was coming from his head.

"Impressive. Good deduction skills, Mr. Potter. Ahh… now, let's see what we've got here, shall we?" the androgynous voice continued, sounding eager. "Oh, a good mind, no doubt; and a thirst to prove yourself."

_Yes, thank you. I do realise I have a large amount of ambition_, thought Harry wryly.

"Oh, yes, no false modesty. And certainly no lack of courage and loyalty to those who earn it, even if it just belongs to young Mr. Edgar Potter at the moment." The hat paused, humming and hawing. "Oh, what's this?"

Distantly, Harry could sense a vague, shadowy memory surface: a woman screaming, pain, a flash of green light, and then words, voices—his brothers', a female he knew was that of Petunia, another woman's, a man's: _king's to you, Henry… The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…Not my babies, please, no… ah, who caught the snitch today, but my clever, clever Prongslet? Yes, yes you did…_

"You could be great, it's all there, you know, in your head, and heart. And of all the houses, there is only one which will help you, Henry James Potter. You have the courage to fight your way to the top in this house, and you give and inspire the loyalty you will need later in your life. You are intelligent, ambitious, and observant enough."

Harry was mesmerised. The voice was haunting, persuasive and encouraging. Harry didn't really care about being the Boy-Who-Lived, or making other people happy. Edgar was his responsibility and he would go where the hat thought he could protect his brother best—and if it did some ego-stroking in the meantime, who was he to complain?

"Yes, Henry James Potter, this house is for you," it finished, confident. "To the future, Mr. Potter, and to—" the voice went from inside his head to announcing his house choice in the whole Hall—"_Slytherin_!"

It took a short time, not more than two minutes, for his sorting, and the Slytherin house erupted in cheers, while the others sat dumbfounded. As Harry removed the hat, ready to turn to his new housemates and his friend, Theo Nott, the hat's voice whispered once more in his mind, chilling Harry.

"_You have a touch of destiny about you, Henry James Potter. Do not forget it."_

*

TBC...

*


	2. II: Knowledge

Unto the Breach

*

**Abbe Faria**: In return for your help, I offer you something priceless.  
**Edmond**: My freedom?  
**Abbe Faria**: No, freedom can be taken away, as you well know. I offer you my knowledge.

_Count of Monte Cristo_, 2002

*

_Chapter Two_

Harry had sent off a quick, brief one-lined letter indicating his House association early the morning after the sorting, before breakfast. He knew Edgar would reply later on in the week, near Friday, to give Harry a chance to explore and learn a bit more about Hogwarts before departing any knowledge of the place.

Once the first week was over, Harry knew there were things he just had to tell Edgar about; and by the end of that first week, there were several things that Harry was absolutely sure about.

The first was Severus Snape: the man hated him.

Although he was Harry's head of house, the man made it clear that he didn't like Harry, wouldn't tolerate Harry, and would most certainly _not_ help him out under any circumstances. In their first potions class, with the Gryffindors, Snape quizzed Harry on material he knew to be well beyond the standard first year text—and it was only his prep before hand with Edgar, and Kettleburn's cryptic suggestion after Diagon Alley, that helped him along.

Afterward, Snape decided that exercising vitriol on Harry was worthless, and stopped speaking to him altogether. His first essay, a detailed, thoughtful piece of the uses of foxglove in their swelling solution, was given an 'A' whereas Theo's barely legible, last-minute and very rushed essay was marked as an 'EE.' Harry decided the class was no big loss, and focused instead on ensuring his potions were not tampered with and could easily settle for poor grades—Cedric informed him that their OWLs and NEWTs were graded from an outside source, and they were the only grades that mattered.

Other than Snape, the other professors seemed to get along with him well enough; as promised, Harry saw Kettleburn with Caesar that first Friday, and the man declared the python to be "blooming beautifully" under Harry's care. He then introduced Harry to Rubeus Hagrid, the keeper of keys at Hogwarts and the groundskeeper who knew almost more than Kettleburn. The giant—because there was no other word Harry could use to describe the man—was a bit unsure if he was to be aloof at Harry's Slytherin sorting, or bawling about how he knew him when he was a baby.

They finally settled on friendly, especially after the three ended up conversing on the differences between snakes and dragons.

Flitwick, his Charms instructor, was impartial and didn't seem to notice at all what crest he wore on his robes; neither did Professor Sprout—but when he caught her sniff of distaste when she moved past Malfoy, Harry decided that his association with Cedric Diggory must have helped him. Harry didn't even comment on the uselessness of Quirrell to Edgar.

Finally, Professor McGonagall, who had smiled at him during his sorting, was unnecessarily strict and behaved rather like Snape had—at least, at first. Once she realised he was answering her questions correctly (along with Granger), and he performed his needle-to-pin before anyone else, she revised her opinion. He was given beaming smiles from her since.

The second thing Harry was sure about was that he had mortally offended several classmates of his when he was sorted into Slytherin. His name was whispered in the hallways, and his blatant association with Theodore Nott, as well as being a Slytherin, created uproar amongst the students. In particular, there were three students who were the most affected: Ron Weasley of Gryffindor, who looked as though he just learnt Santa didn't exist; Ernie McMillan of Hufflepuff, despite Cedric's very public backing of Harry's sorting; and Susan Bones, who shrieked whenever she saw him and turned in the opposite direction when he wandered down the hall.

Harry wasn't sure if he was amused or completely mortified. Theo seemed to think it one big laugh, and sniggered whenever he saw Susan Bones and Ernie McMillan in their Charms class, which they shared with the Hufflepuffs. Still—he didn't let it bother him too much. He was at Hogwarts to learn magic, to defend himself and Eddy from the Dursleys and Dudley's friends, and to only please his younger brother and make him happy.

To Harry, the idea seemed completely alien that people would expect him to be something when they knew nothing about him. The books he and Eddy bought in Diagon Alley seemed to reinforce the image that Harry was truly Clark Kent in disguise, but with a wand. The details the books gave about his 'special training' and 'magical prowess' were laughable.

One such person had learned that first hand, and had triggered Harry's respect, albeit, reluctantly. Within days of his sorting, Harry decided that he would assume the persona of a diligent, studious pupil and would not hide his intelligence. This did lead to him and Theo spending a fair amount of time at the library, along with another boy who was sorted into Slytherin (and one whom Malfoy had not considered and therefore did not hold court with on the train): Nathaniel Moon.

On the first Friday of the week, the three boys were going over their transfiguration homework when they were interrupted by a large tome landing next to Nate. The three looked up in surprise—a girl with very bushy brown hair was looking at him, two expressions on her face: wariness, and sheer stubbornness. She settled for stubbornness.

"May I sit here?" she asked.

Harry shared a glance with Theo and Nate; they nodded, slowly. "It's a free country," retorted Harry, finally, recognising the girl as Hermione Granger, Gryffindor.

Granger sat, flipped open her book, and then, bluntly, said: "I've read all about you, you know; in _Dark Wizards through the Ages_ and _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_."

Harry cringed. "Oh?"

Here, she paused. "I thought books never lied."

Harry sighed. It was a common mistake she made; Edgar had once thought the same, years ago, and learned that books could lie just as easily as a human could. Granger continued speaking.

"First off, they only ever call you _Harry_ but your name is _Henry_," she said, tartly. "And they were confident that you would end up in Gryffindor."

"Clearly, he's not," answered Theo, bewildered, and slightly sullenly.

The girl rolled her eyes. "I _know_ that, thank you very much." She turned back to Harry. "I grew up in the Muggle world, I didn't even know I was a witch so I got all these books to learn from and then I get here and learn they were wrong—but I was so pleased to be the first witch in my family, and my name is Hermione Granger."

She said that all in one breath, and very quickly. Harry was impressed, although Theo and Nate's glances indicated that they were _not_.

The boys all mumbled their names and went back to their books, but whenever Harry and his friends were in the library, she sat with them, and when they saw her in the halls, she would try to strike up a conversation with Harry. Once, she even sat down at the Slytherin table at lunch, and promptly ignored the glares and slurs that were directed at her while she sat next to Theo.

Harry had to admit it took courage to do it, and applauded the sorting hat's decision to place her in Gryffindor, even if he didn't know why she persisted to converse with him and his friends.

He confessed this all the Edgar in his letter to his younger brother, unsure if he should make an offer of friendship and create waves early on in his Hogwarts years, especially with the rampant prejudice, or not. However, he didn't linger on the subject.

He detailed exactly where the entrance to the Slytherin dorms was, though, to Edgar, in case of any emergencies when he came to Hogwarts the following year. Harry then proceeded to explain the layout. The ceiling was low and thick stone, and the rooms were small but shared between four instead of clumping each year together (he shared with Theo, Nate, and Zabini, although like Cedric said the boy was more of a loner, eager to do his own thing and not anyone else's).

Harry had a moment of panic when he realised he was going to be _sleeping_ in a pocket of stone formed underneath the lake, but then figured that there would be spells to prevent leaks and cave-ins, and then spent the rest of the page in his letter detailing what he thought to be the most amazing part of the Slytherin dorms: the reflection pools.

Although Harry couldn't figure out their purposes, other than to look cool, the reflection pools in the Slytherin dorms were just small, but very deep, pools of water that looked down into the lake from the dorm room floors. Somehow, the water was clear and there were blobs of light that illuminated from below, casting eerie blue, purple, and white flecks of light against the walls of the dorms. A larger pool was near the very front of the Slytherin common room, with an invisible bridge that led from the school entrance to the dorms.

Harry settled fairly quickly into a routine at Hogwarts, and kept his correspondence to Edgar steady despite his homework and the social activities he participated in with his friends.

Eddy was happy that Harry had a few, solid friends in Theodore Nott, Nathaniel Moon and Cedric Diggory, but he also cautioned his big brother to maybe look elsewhere for others? Caesar, the opinionated snake that he was, chimed in that Voldemort was most likely biding his time and that Harry could use a larger support base—or rather, a large character based—if anything were to happen.

The letter arrived on October 30th, and Harry spent the time before the Halloween feast the next day asking Cedric who he thought Harry should socialise more with. Cedric replied he would think about it, but the decision was quickly taken out of the older boy's hands.

He was sitting with Theo and Nate at the Slytherin table, laughingly explaining about a bad fall the Hufflepuff Keeper took when Cedric accidentally flew past him at the same time as a Bludger during their practice, when Quirrell ran into the Great Hall.

"Troll! Troll in the dungeons!"

Harry immediately frowned, ignoring Malfoy's girlish scream a few seats down. There were no exits or entrances in the dungeons that lead outside of Hogwarts—he would know, with his dorm down there. Wouldn't the portraits or ghosts have seen something?

"Prefects! Take your students to their common rooms!" Dumbledore's voice was amplified in the Hall, and here Harry and Theo shared an eye roll. Yes, send the Slytherins where the troll was; very smart.

As the Slytherin first years passed the Gryffindor first years, in the main entrance way (they were going up, the Slytherins down), Harry overheard Ron Weasley and Parvati Patil.

"Aren't you going to say something?" the girl was hissing at the redhead.

He shrugged. "No. Why should I?"

"She was crying all afternoon!"

Here, the redhead looked uncomfortable, but Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas caught his attention and he gratefully left Parvati standing alone near the back of the Gryffindors.

"What happened?" asked Harry, curiously. Edgar did say it was going to get him in trouble one day. "Who's crying?"

Parvati jumped, not expecting to hear the voice. Theo and Nate stood behind Harry, watching the rest of the Slytherins descend into the dungeons. The Indian girl swallowed, glanced at Harry, and made a decision. "Hermione Granger. Ron was really mean to her after Charms and she spent the rest of the afternoon crying in the girls' bathroom on the first floor."

The little Gryffindor then dashed off, attaching herself to the straying Gryffindors. Harry felt his lips purse.

"Oh, no you don't," began Theo, seeing the look. "First off, Edgar's not going to like being the only Potter left if you get killed on a rescue mission."

Nate chuckled. "And you don't know where the troll is either."

Harry frowned. "She hasn't been all that bad, you know."

Theo shuffled. "I reckon…" he then sighed. "Oh, fine. Let's go save the Gryffindor."

Harry shot Theo a grin that his friend returned, and Nate began walking quickly towards the first floor bathroom. They found it easily, although their noses were beginning to wrinkle up at the stench of rotten sewage that was creeping up on them the closer they got to the bathrooms.

Harry looked in both directions before dashing into the girl's, with Nate and Theo on his heels. "Granger!"

A low snuffle caught his attention and a stall door opened; Granger's bushy head peaked out, her eyes red rimmed from crying.

She blinked at the three boys standing by the sinks. "What are you doing here?"

Nate glanced back, at the partially opened bathroom door, his nose wrinkling more. The stench was getting stronger. "We heard about Weasley… and during dinner Quirrell announced there was a troll loose in the school. Harry was pretty sure you didn't know, so we came to tell you."

"Troll?" asked the Gryffindor, pale. Her voice was rather high-pitched.

"Yeah," replied Theo. "So, hurry up, dry your eyes; we need to go."

"So… these trolls," began Granger, her voice still high, "are they really tall with rough looking skin tinged brownish green? Really stinky?"

Harry paused, considering her words, and then gagged as he took a deep breath. The scent of sewage was overwhelming, and he nearly bent double, in an effort not to retch.

"Harry!" moaned Nate, clutching at his friends' shirtsleeve. Caesar, hidden underneath Harry's shirt and wrapped around his neck and upper torso, chimed in as well.

"_I do suggest you look behind you, Henry_," he hissed, sounding almost dry and crotchety.

Harry obeyed, eyes watering, and took a fumbling step backward, dragging Nate and Theo with him. The troll had lumbered its way into the girls' bathroom, and instead of Harry and his Slytherin friends performing a rescue mission for the Gryffindor, they were all now in need of a rescue.

"Wands out!" shouted Harry, nasally, as he tried to breathe through his mouth and ignore the stench of the troll.

_Where were the professors?_ He wondered, as he, Theo and Nate formed a line and held their wands out in front of them, their bodies sideways to make a smaller target. Granger remained crouched behind them, half in the toilet stall and half out, but her wand was in her hand as well.

"What now, Harry?" asked Nate, his voice low as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry felt his mouth settle into a straight line. Was this what the sorting hat meant when he had a touch of destiny about him? He was so sure the hat meant Voldemort… not fighting some troll like St. George fighting a bloody dragon.

"Now?" he repeated, stiffening as though he was facing Dudley and his gang of friends, in a 6-to-1 fight, with the odds against him (and did Harry ever know that the odds were against him and his friends here). "Now, we show this troll what the Slytherins are made off!"

Theo paused, barely. "And what are Slytherins made of, Harry?" he asked, drawling the vowels out through his mouth.

Harry's eyes glittered in the flickering light that reflected from the candles hovering above the mirrors in the girls' toilets, and had Edgar been beside him—or even Cedric—they would've recognised the glitter for what it was: a dark promise of strength and retribution; Slytherin cunning with Gryffindor bravery, Ravenclaw intelligence and Hufflepuff loyalty.

"On three!" said Harry, ignoring Nate's heavy breathing and Theo's audible gulp; behind him Granger was murmuring under her breath.

Caesar was hissing in time with Harry's countdown, his own words of encouragement bolstering Harry's esteem. "Three… two… one… _confringo_!"

Harry shouted the blasting curse, from his book of _1001 Hexes_; beside him Theo and Nate shouted their spells: "_Defodio_" from Theo, which had Harry raise his eyebrows in surprise at the Dark intent of the spell against a troll, and "_expulso_" from Nate. Granger's "_wingardium leviosa_" was incredibly tame compared to the three boys' choices, but then again, they were pointing their wands at a target that had the potential to kill them.

Harry had learnt early in life that force would only respond to force, and not passivity. Dudley and his friends wouldn't go whinging to a teacher if Harry managed to beat the bollocks out of one of them, because they would have to explain why he would beat them in the first place; Harry reasoned the same would be used in this situation. He and his friends came to tell Hermione Granger about the troll—all self-serving of course, everyone knew she was the brains of the class and three Slytherins could easily use those brains to be in their debt—and had the ill luck to run afoul with the troll and responded accordingly. Everyone knew Theo and Nate came from pureblood families; both with ties to suspect Death Eaters, and Harry's own past against Voldemort could be excused as a reason to use deadly force.

The noise was deafening as all the spells hit their target and a sonic boom shattered the mirrors around them, causing Granger to shriek in surprise and dodge backwards to avoid the falling glass. Theo managed to duck the majority of the glass; vaguely catching Harry's interested at how quickly he protected himself. However, Nate and Harry received the brunt of it, several sharp, but rather small, shards slicing their arms as they rose to protect their heads.

All four first years were crouched in various places in the toilets, with only Hermione unscathed from being in the stall. Even Harry was slightly dazed from the destruction their spells made, and the noise. His ears were ringing, and he thought later that must be the only reason why he didn't hear the professors enter the toilet.

He certainly heard McGonagall's screech, though.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

Harry glanced up, Theo and Nate beside him and Granger peeking her head around the stall corner.

Flitwick, Quirrell, Snape and McGonagall were all standing clustered around the entrance, mouths agape as they took in the dead troll oozing green pus-like blood from the very large hole in its chest, and the knot on its head from Granger's spell, to the glass shards on the floor and in the sinks.

"Potter! Nott! Moon! And—Miss _Granger_!" McGonagall gapped. "Explain yourselves!"

Harry blinked, his mouth opening and ready to defend his friends, when Granger spoke first.

"Please, Professor, it's my fault," the girl began timidly. Immediately, Harry and the other Slytherins adopted innocent 'don't look at me' expressions, turning to Hermione to listen to her. "I read about mountain trolls, you know, and when I heard that there was one loose… well, I just had to see it, didn't I?"

She ducked her head, ashamed, and Harry nearly applauded her acting skills.

"I completely underestimated them, though," she whispered, stricken. "I was stuck in the toilets and hiding when Harry and Theo and Nate came in and distracted the troll to save me."

Snape snorted. "Three Slytherins helping a Gryffindor? Highly unlikely." At his pointed look at the dead troll, he continued, "And _that_ is hardly 'distracting' a troll, Miss Granger."

"Our grades aren't that good in history," defended Nate, to Harry's surprise. "Everyone knows Granger has the best grades."

Theo shrugged, and continued. "We figured that if we helped her out, she'd help us with our school work. Why in Merlin's name would we want to help a Gryffindor know-it-all like her?"

A flash of pain crossed Granger's face, and she blinked quickly to hide her tears at Theo and Nate's blatant dismissal of her. However, she glanced up at Harry, who caught her eye and gave a quick wink, before turning to the professors. "She owes us a life debt now, anyway," he shrugged. "We might as well collect."

Snape clearly disagreed with a sneer directed at Harry. "Be as that may, three students who did _not_ listen to the headmaster will receive punishment."

"As will you, Miss Granger," interjected McGonagall, clearly disappointed in her favourite student. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and thirty from Slytherin."

Snape shot McGonagall a dirty look, and then another at the three boys which promised an additional punishment behind the scenes.

Caesar made his opinion clear following that, stating, "_I highly doubt anything the smelly one comes up with will be difficult for you, Henry, after your life at the Dursleys._" The snake paused and then continued, "_And as for your nest-brother, Theodore, he is like you. You know hardship. Possibly the Moon child will falter._"

Quirrell was staring at the troll with an ill look on his face, and he weakly leaned against the tiled wall and slid to a crouch. Flitwick seemed entirely unsure how to handle the situation, so he finally said, "Now, now, the four of you should return to your common rooms—the feast is concluding itself there instead of the Great Hall."

The four first years nodded and gingerly picked their way through mirror shards and splatters of green pus, exiting the toilets and walking in silence towards the entrance hall. They paused at the divider, Granger turning to the stairs to go up to the Gryffindor tower.

"Thank you," she finally said, looking still very pale.

Harry shrugged. "It could've been much worse, Granger. And you didn't have to say anything about us."

The girl shook her head. "I had to." Her eyes still looked suspiciously bright. "You didn't have to come for me. You could have walked by."

Nate chuckled, mirthlessly. "We might be Slytherins, Granger, but we're not monsters."

She shared a watery smile with the three boys and then said, "Goodnight," turning and starting up the steps. The boys continued down towards the dungeons, each privately wondering at Snape's punishment. Whatever he decided to dish out, however, wasn't going to change anything—the good that the three did far outweighed the punishment.

*

None of the Slytherins decided to remain at Hogwarts for the Christmas break, and Harry was eager to return to Privet Drive to see his younger brother and hear all about his own adventures instead of reading about them.

Harry sat with Theo, Nate and Hermione in a compartment on the way back to London on the Hogwarts Express train; the three Slytherins had oddly adopted Hermione after the troll incident—or, Harry mused, perhaps she adopted them? The girl sat with them in the classes they shared, and spent her time with them in the library. She hadn't sat at the Slytherin table again, after her first disastrous attempt, but no one bothered her again after Ron Weasley was brought to the hospital wing thoroughly hexed, and refusing to tell the professors—or his brothers—who hexed him.

Cedric had stopped by for a few minutes, wishing them happy holidays and giving them their gifts, which surprised Harry. Although he bought presents for his friends, including Cedric, Professor Kettleburn and little trinkets for the rest of the professors who taught him, he wasn't expecting anything in return except from Edgar.

Snow was swirling about outside the compartment windows, creating a picturesque Scottish winter landscape, but the closer they got to King's Cross and London, the fields barely had a dusting of snow and mainly everything was grey, damp, and dark.

Theo and Nate met their fathers, both who apparated them away quickly from the platform itself after they said their goodbye's to Harry and Hermione, with neither Pureblood family willing to remain behind nor "chat" with the halfblood and mudblood. Hermione and her parents offered to drop Harry off at Victoria Station so he could catch a train to Guildford. From there, Harry would take a cab or bus at the station to his relative's.

The Grangers were a nice, unassuming couple, both with rather large front teeth and wide, beaming smiles, asking question upon question about Hogwarts and magic in general. Harry had the feeling that they were glad that their daughter wasn't lonely and had friends—even if they were wizards.

At Victoria Station, the Granger's waved their goodbyes, heading to Reading. Harry waited until the car disappeared in the traffic, and then made the rest of his way to 4 Privet Drive under his own steam.

It was nearly nine at night by the time he arrived, freezing and shivering in the cool air, but his brothers' eager, happy face when he answered the door made Harry warm inside.

*

"…and _then_ McCallister went, 'oh, is _that_ what you meant?' and I replied, 'well, no, just because I called you an inbred ignoramus doesn't mean it's correct, it's just an opinion of mine, I can't help it though if my opinions are correct, though, does it?' and then he practically blew his top, Henry," laughed Edgar, rolling about the bottom bunk of their room on Christmas Eve, "but of course he couldn't do or say anything about it because the teacher was only a bit away and if he made a move on me he _knew_ I'd just shout and call attention and then where would he be?"

"Oh, clever, Eddy," laughed Harry, clad already in his jimjams, watching his brother glow and giggle his way through a story about him and a bully at Little Whinging Public School.

_Thank goodness_ _that Dudley is my age and at Stonewall Academy instead of at the same school as Edgar_, thought Harry.

Harry was fairly quiet since his return to Privet Drive—and not because of the glares his relatives gave him, for daring to disturb their perfect Christmas—but because he hadn't realised just how much he would _miss_ his baby brother. He was trying to memorise his face: the way his brown eyes would scrunch up and narrow in laughter, the way his dark black hair turned red under the artificial light from their bedside lamp; the way his brother already grew another two inches and was nearing Harry's height and was eating properly.

Harry watched his brothers' eerily familiar middle-finger poke to the bridge of his spectacles and wondered if he had always copied his older brothers' habits, or if it was anew thing in the wake of Harry's attendance to Hogwarts. Harry loved Hogwarts, he did, but he loved his brother more and wondered how he made himself leave Edgar behind.

"You aren't listening, are you?"

Harry jerked in surprise. "Pardon?"

Edgar smiled. "I thought you were a million miles away. What's on your mind, Harry?"

"Just realised how much I missed you," the older Potter laughed, reaching forward and tugging Edgar towards him and under his arm in a lose chokehold. The two laughed and roughhoused on the bunker bed for a bit, ignoring Iris' indignant growls from her perch by the window and Caesar's grumpy hiss of "_so immature_."

Finally exhausted, the two fell asleep next to each other in the bottom bunk, their heads nearly touching. They had done that every Christmas Eve since they could remember, having never been separated before, and both sought comfort and familiarity that night.

The two never had the chance to sleep in on Christmas morning; Petunia's iron demand of the family was to continue the religious upbringing from the Evans family. The two Potters donned their Sunday best and helped each other with their ties, and tried to get their hair to lie flat. The Dursleys then joined them at the entrance foyer and the group of five drove to the nearest church for their holiday prayers.

Neither Harry nor Edgar considered themselves very religious, and with their recent discovery of their magical powers, Harry wondered if they would feel awkward in a church of any sort, but was surprised: Harry felt the same sense of peace as he always had—it was Dudley who was fidgeting and pulling at his neck cloth in agitation during the sermons.

After the morning church service, the Dursleys plus Potters returned to Privet Drive, and Harry and Edgar began the laborious task of preparing Christmas lunch with turkey and pudding in excess. It was only after two in the afternoon, once the two Potter brothers also had their midday meal and the Dursleys were settling down for afternoon tea and the Queen's Christmas message on the radio, when Harry and Edgar were able to escape to their room and give their presents.

"What the…?" were the first words from Harry's mouth as he stepped into the smallest room at Privet Drive, with Edgar just behind him. At the foot of each bunk bed, laid out on the duvet, were several wrapped gifts (with a notably larger bottom pile for Harry than Edgar's).

Harry reached over and picked the first up, blinking as he recognised the wrapper and tag: it was the gift Cedric gave him on the train several days previous, which he had stored at the bottom of his trunk with no intention of moving the present elsewhere until after New Years'.

"Are those…" Edgar hesitated, his voice whispery and almost breathless in wonder. "Are those _Christmas presents_, Henry?"

The novelty of actually receiving gifts from people other than the brothers was shocking and incredibly surprising. The Dursleys' gifts were usually items that aided the Potters in their chores or little tokens meant to insult and belittle, like an old sixpence or toothbrush. Vernon had taken great delight in telling Harry and Edgar at a very age that Santa Claus didn't exist, and even if he did, only "good boys" received presents.

Harry nodded, flabbergasted, and put Cedric's gift down. He began to catalogue the gifts, slowly sitting on his bed while Edgar scrambled up the wooden ladder to his bunk, exclaiming softly over his gifts.

There was the present from Cedric Diggory; two from Theo, and one from Nate; a rather large and heavy package from Hermione; Hagrid and Kettleburn both sent a chipped-in gift to Harry, and there were small gifts from McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Quirrell and two, surprisingly, from Dumbledore (although Snape was notably absent). A large, rectangular package was nearly buried underneath the pile, with a spiky script stating it was for _Henry & Edgar; Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, from Remus Lupin_.

Edgar's head appeared in Harry's line of sight, upside-down, startling the preteen. "What did you get?"

"I haven't opened them yet, I wanted to know who sent me things, first," argued Harry defensively.

Edgar grinned, and swung down to gently land beside his brother on the lower bunk. Harry glared, having admired Edgar's graceful swing. He was sure once at Hogwarts he'd get on a Quidditch team for his house.

"I got gifts from your friends, Harry!" smiled Edgar, "From Theodore," he began, relishing over-pronouncing the names, "and Nathaniel and Her-_mi­_-o-_ne_, Cedric, Professor Kettleburn, and one from the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."

Harry smiled, amused at his little brother's enthusiasm. "There's one from a man named Remus Lupin for both of us."

Edgar's smile froze. "Who?" Neither Potter fully trusted strangers—especially those sending gifts.

Harry shrugged. "Shall we open it?"

"Is it hexed or something?" asked Edgar suspiciously. "And why aren't you more concerned? This isn't your curiosity that is taking you by the bollocks, is it?"

"Edgar!" snapped Harry, glancing in shock at his little brother. "It's one thing for me to say 'bollocks' but it's another coming from you!"

Edgar shrugged. "I attend public school, and you're not around to monitor my bad habits, Henry." Edgar finished with a cheeky smile. "Live with it."

Harry sighed and gathered the gift from Lupin in his lap, and slowly unwound the twine holding brown paper wrapping from it. The paper fell away to reveal a leather-bound book of some sort, but once Harry opened it, he felt his breath catch and Edgar muffle a gasp of surprise.

The leather bound book was actually a leather bound _photo album_, and the first picture was that of their parents, each holding one of the Potter brothers in their arms, posed in front of a quaint looking cottage.

Lily and James Potter were smiling, and James took picture-Harry's chubby baby hand and waved it as Harry's eyes darted towards his father.

"Do…" Edgar stopped to clear his throat, completely overwhelmed with emotion. "Do all wizard pictures move?"

"Yeah," breathed out Harry, his gaze still caught on his father.

The two Potters remained on Harry's bed for the majority of the day, slowly going through the various pictures in the album and lingering over made-up memories and feelings of want and loneliness until the room descended into evening darkness.

*

Back at Hogwarts for the New Year, Harry effortlessly fell back into his routine of study, socialise, and sleep. Harry had several classes before his Friday appointment with Kettleburn in his office, but was eagerly looking forward to speaking to the care of magical creatures professor because Caesar was crotchety, incredibly slow, and very moody, refusing the majority of food Harry pushed at him—and all Harry could figure was that he was fighting his nature to hibernate in the winter seasons.

Since he figured his meeting with Kettleburn wouldn't take too long, Harry made plans to see Cedric afterwards so that they older Hufflepuff could take Harry down to the greenhouses with a few of Cedric's friends following their Quidditch practice.

He had stuffed one of his Christmas presents from Dumbledore in his satchel (in case Cedric would keep out past curfew; he didn't need Snape to find him wandering the halls and remove points), which turned out to be an invisibility cloak that belonged to his father. Edgar was beyond raptures with the cloak, and the two brothers decided that they would rotate ownership by year. Harry would use it for his first year and then Edgar for his; if the other brother would require using it, it would be loaned.

"Hmm," mumbled Kettleburn, stroking Caesar's brown scales thoughtfully. Harry had explained the situation, and what his thoughts were. Harry knew Kettleburn didn't think that it was anything he purposefully did; Harry was diligent in Caesar's care.

"_Tell the Pot-Warm one to stop stroking my stomach, Henry_," Caesar finally grumbled as Kettleburn made another pass down the snake's body. "_I think he's given me indigestion_."

Harry struggled to not snigger, but Kettleburn turned to him anyway, a single eyebrow over his eye patch raised.

"And what about this situation amuses you, Mr. Potter?" the professor asked.

Harry cleared his throat, wondering how to proceed. After the boa incident at the London Zoo, Harry and Edgar promised to not reveal their abilities to speak with snakes unless it was an emergency. However, Harry was unsure if Caesar was sick—and he rather thought that the snake wouldn't tell him if he was, anyway—so Harry felt he had no choice in the matter.

"Caesar would prefer if you didn't stroke him anymore, sir," said Harry, tacking on the 'sir' hastily, "as he says it's probably giving him indigestion… and," Harry glanced at the snake in question, directing the next English sentence to him regardless if he couldn't understand it, "you really need to learn that his name is _Kettleburn_ and not _Pot-Warm_."

Kettleburn's other eyebrow shot up.

Harry's face flushed and he shuffled his feet, misinterpreting Kettleburn's expression. "He sometimes has problems with names, sir."

At the professor's flabbergasted look, Harry continued, "I think he's just taking a longer time to digest his food. Uh, sir."

"You can understand him?" asked Kettleburn, finally, after several moments of silence.

"Um," said Harry, panicked. "Yes?"

Kettleburn let out a large breath through his nose, staring at Harry before sitting down heavily in his desk chair, looking between Caesar and the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Do you know anything about Parseltongues, Henry?" the professor began in a heavy-sounding voice, causing Harry to start. The professor only ever kept himself professional when the two were together, and he never, _ever_ referred to Harry as 'Henry.'

"Parseltongues, sir?"

"'_Parseltongue'_ is the name for magical folk who can speak to snakes," began Kettleburn. "It is a trait that is considered Dark in recent times, due to You-Know-Who, who was also a snake speaker."

Harry hesitated before slowly sinking into the seat across from Kettleburn's desk. "I… see."

Kettleburn regarded Harry from his single eye. "Do you? If the general population leant about your parseltongue abilities, Henry, I think that would be lynched despite being the Boy-Who-Lived. You're in Slytherin, like the Dark Lord; you speak to snakes, like the Dark Lord; you align yourself with friends who have known Dark pasts, like the Dark Lord. They'll see you as You-Know-Who reborn."

Harry felt a small bubble of hysteria float from his stomach to lodge in his throat, and a mental image of himself cackling evil and gleefully rubbing his hands together made it known in a few, brief moments. Harry felt that hysteria turn towards humour, and realised that while he had a fairly dark background—and how could he not after growing up in the Dursley household?—he was hardly going to become the next Dark Lord.

The two remained silent a little longer, both lost in their own thoughts, until Kettleburn shifted a little and Harry looked up at him.

"Mr. Potter," the professor began, looking hesitant.

"Yes, sir?" asked Harry.

The professor glanced at Caesar, who was watching with two lazy eyes, and then looked back at Harry. "Pot-Warm? _Really_?"

The gleeful, if not incredulous, tone made Harry burst into laughter, starting Caesar who rolled into a tight ball, and then hissed his complaints as his full stomach pained him.

*

When Cedric Diggory came to Professor Kettleburn's classroom, sweaty, dirty with grass smudges on his yellow uniform, and rather tired, he did not expect to see Harry and Kettleburn staring intently at Harry's pet snake Caesar, as though he were a trained dog ready to perform a trick.

And then… he _did_ perform a trick: Caesar hissed something, and Harry _translated_ and then Kettleburn tried to mimic the hiss.

Cedric wasn't exactly sure at first what he was seeing. He thought it was a bit of a hallucination from the Bludger that clipped his head during practice, intent to go after the new Hufflepuff seeker. And then his brain caught up to him and he realised Harry was speaking Parseltongue, and was… _teaching_ Kettleburn.

And neither had noticed the door open or Cedric standing in the doorway. He rather thought it was poor observation skills from both the wizards, and was going to ream something harsh into Caesar, who, as a snake, should be able to sense Cedric's heat signature.

And _then_ the rest of Cedric's brain caught up to _that_ statement and Cedric Diggory, fourteen year old Hufflepuff student, Pureblood, realised that he just calmly accepted Harry's ability to speak to snakes, moved right past him teaching Kettleburn, to deciding that Cedric had the right to chastise a snake as though it were a friend—or another human—because he thought Caesar was in the wrong.

Cedric spent a moment thinking that that was just plain odd, but practically everything since meeting Henry Potter had been "odd." Inwardly, he shrugged and rapped harder on the wooden door, causing both wizards and snake to look up in surprise.

Harry paled, gulping, while Kettleburn twitched and remained in a half-standing, half-crouch.

Cedric decided to take initiative and looked at Caesar, who seemed ashamed and curled into himself in a ball—the Hufflepuff knew that the snake was feeling defensive or preparing for an attack.

"And what do you have to say for yourself, Caesar?"

Kettleburn, Harry, and the snake all looked surprise that Cedric directed his question at the snake.

Finally, Caesar unwound himself and hissed something; Harry glanced at his pet and then at Cedric in a decidedly nervous manner. "He asked what you meant by that."

"I meant," here Cedric stressed the word, "that I could have been _anyone_ coming through the door, and there I see the three of you having a blast playing tourist!"

Harry shared a look again with his snake, who hissed something, and Harry hissed back, and then Caesar kind of _wilted_ was the best way to describe it, thought Cedric. It was obvious the snake was suitably chastised, and feeling depressed.

"It's okay," continued Cedric genially, as he stepped further into the classroom and shutting the door. As he neared the snake, he pet Caesar on the head like one would a dog. "You just need to be more careful in the future, that's all."

Caesar hissed something that had Harry's cheeks turn pink; Cedric imagined it was something very uncomplimentary towards him, and he resolved to not pet the snake again on the head unless he was feeling confident that he could dash away from the tiny python quickly.

"Caesar, um," began Harry, his voice a bit higher than normal, "Asks that you politely not pet him on the head again, Cedric Diggory, as he is not a dog but a snake." Harry paused as Caesar continued, and this time Kettleburn looked a bit contrite—they had clearly been at translating for some time before he arrived. "And that he appreciates your… ah… kindness at not getting upset at my abilities, he will… erm… be terribly inconvenienced if he had to… um… yeah, I'm not translating the rest. Just that it'll be very, very unpleasant for you if you decided to stop being my friend or pet him on the head again. Or the belly. He's still a bit spotty about the professor doing that earlier."

Cedric did his best to keep his lips from twitching into a smile, and solemnly accepted the angry snake's words. He then turned to Harry and asked, "Ready to go?"

The Slytherin nodded, gently picking up the growing snake and wound him about his neck and tucked him underneath the collar. The snake was still hissing insults at Diggory, but they seemed to be in good sport now, Harry decided.

He still wasn't going to tell the older boy that, though.

*

By April, Harry could safely say that he was enjoying Hogwarts and was eager for Edgar to attend so that the Potter brothers could be together again. He did well in all his classes (except Potions); he had several very good friends in three of four of the Hogwarts houses, and found a best friend in Theodore Nott; he even participated in various social activities his friends forced on him (in particular Cedric and his mates' Quidditch practices, but since Harry wasn't too fond of using a broom to fly—it still boggled his mind something silly—he spent the time teaching the third year students football and somehow cricket was introduced as well).

And as far as he could tell, there wasn't a peep out of any of the professors about bad behaviour (how Snape wished that weren't true), about his social circle, or about his Slytherin placement. On the last matter, it seemed the majority of the school had managed to understand that Harry was a Slytherin and a happy one at that; and thankfully, his blatant association with Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger truly destroyed any chance of people seeing him as a Dark Lord incarnate.

There were a few students that still had issues with him, and although he got along well enough with Draco Malfoy and the other Slytherin first years he didn't have much exposure to them outside class or hanging around the common room near curfew. Harry stuck to Theo and Nate, and had no use for Crabbe and Goyle's thug-like façades, or Zabini's isolation, or any of the girls' scheming and giggling.

So, Harry was fairly confident that there was nothing in his life that would warrant Dumbledore sending him a note one morning at breakfast in April, asking him to skip his meeting with Kettleburn and join him in his office.

Had Harry known that Ashley Kettleburn returned from Privet Drive directly to Hogwarts, only to shout angrily at Albus Dumbledore until he was forced to take a throat-soothing potion, back in July when he delivered Harry's acceptance letter, Harry might have been a little more concerned. Unfortunately, he never knew about that meeting, and was thoroughly unprepared to meet Albus Dumbledore.

After giving the password to the guardian gargoyle ("Jelly babies"), Harry found himself surprisingly nervous. In the past, when facing authority, Harry always managed a cool façade that worked in his favour or his indiscretion was so well known about the school in Little Whinging he never had to deny anything. Dumbledore, however, was a bit of a void for Harry—he was an unknown element and Harry was unsure if he could get away with what he did at Little Whinging.

Harry raised his hand to knock on the heavy wood door, but before his knuckles rapped, a voice said, "Ah, come in Harry."

Startled, Harry took a moment to shift his face into a bland, uninterested look, and stepped into Albus Dumbledore's office—and felt like he was transported into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, minus the chocolate.

The office was large and spacious, designed to mimic a smoothed hexagon shape, and along the walls that weren't covered in portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, shelves were overflowing with knickknacks and trinkets and books. Several trinkets were emitting puffs of smoke; one whistled pleasantly; several knickknacks looked like they had springs or cogs hanging loose or had recently popped.

The room was nothing like the Spartan and minimalist offices his previous instructors favoured; Dumbledore's office was more like a favourite, eccentric uncle's study or library.

As he eyed a large wardrobe, or shelving unit, off to one side of the large desk Dumbledore use, Harry wondered if it would take him to Narnia. He almost suspected it would.

"Would you have a seat, Harry?"

The voice startled him and Harry turned to see Dumbledore standing just behind his desk, watching him with twinkling blue eyes and a slight smile.

Harry nodded and sat gingerly on a cushy chair in front of the desk, and waited until Dumbledore seated himself to ask, "Is there a reason why I'm here, sir? I don't think I've done anything wrong."

Dumbledore chuckled, waving his wand and summoning a platter with two tea cups, a milk jug, a small cup of sugar cubes and a plate of biscuits. "Not at all, Harry. I was just wondering if I could have a conversation with you."

"About, sir?"

"Anything and everything," began Dumbledore, taking a cup and offering it to Harry, who accepted but did not drink yet. Dumbledore offered a tong with a sugar cube and Harry nodded, holding out his cup. "How are you finding Hogwarts?"

"Very well," said Harry, answering truthfully.

"I'm glad. We were most anxious about your arrival," confessed Dumbledore, adding sugar to his tea as well.

Harry frowned. "Why was that, sir?"

Dumbledore blinked, momentarily surprised. "Ah… I would have thought that young Mr. Diggory had explained to you about your position in our world, Harry. Or that Professor Kettleburn had explained when he took you to Diagon Alley."

Harry nodded in understanding. "You mean the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, sir. No, Professor Kettleburn did not tell Eddy or I anything about what happened the night Voldemort attacked our parents, and neither did Cedric or my other friends. Eddy and I read about it in several books we purchased at Flourish and Blott's."

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked surprised, and then his eyes twinkled some more as he regarded Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "And how is your little brother doing? I only saw him once, when your mother was receiving guests just after his birth."

Harry's sip of tea mingled with an inhalation of surprise that had him coughing, and sputtering. "You… you knew my parents? You saw Eddy when he was born?"

"And you as well, Harry," confirmed Dumbledore with a reminiscent smile. "Your mother was quite unimpressed with your father when he began calling you 'Harry' instead of 'Henry' just days after you were born."

Harry felt a small smile appear on his face. "I never knew my father was the one who started that."

At this, Dumbledore's smile slipped a bit, but he recovered well, "Alas! It was not your father, but his friend, Sirius Black, who wanted you to have a more 'common' name, I believe he said. He and his brother, Regulus, had such strong, regal names amongst the Pureblood circle and I am sure that he did not want you exposed to that. Hence, Harry and Eddy instead of Henry and Edgar."

Harry murmured the name under his breath, tasting the syllables.

Silence fell between the two wizards.

"Are you enjoying Slytherin, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, finally breaking the silence of munching on biscuits and sipping their tea.

Harry smiled. "Yes; I can imagine it was a bit of a surprise for people… but I really do like it. I fit in well with my friends, and I tend to stay out of the power politics they play."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "And they let you?"

Here, Harry shifted uncomfortably, before mumbling, "They did when me mates and I hexed them enough."

Dumbledore chuckled, ignoring the confession. "I must admit, Harry, that at first I was worried about your placement in Slytherin."

"How come?" asked Harry, surprised.

Dumbledore had his turn to shift uncomfortably. "Long ago, another boy was sorted there and turned down a path of darkness." His eyes took on a look of sorrow and pain, and he continued in a much softer voice. "He was brilliant, talented, and very charming. And yet he later became one of the worst Dark Lords we have ever seen."

"Voldemort?" guessed Harry.

At Dumbledore's surprised, owlish blinks, the older wizard garbled out, "You do not fear the name?"

"Why should I? It's just a name," answered Harry.

Dumbledore smiled; one full of pride. "Quite right, Harry. Well done; most grown wizards and witches—some of our very brightest and talented—cannot speak his name without shivering in horror. It is quite admirable that you can, especially all that he has taken from you."

"You can't regret things you don't remember having in the first place," answered Harry quietly, lost in his thoughts of the photo album Remus Lupin had sent the Potters.

"No, no," agreed Dumbledore, just as softly. He cleared his throat. "I am sorry to learn that your home life was not as… agreeable as I had hoped."

"You hoped, sir?" queried Harry, a note of something sharpening his tone.

Dumbledore winced. "Yes. I placed you and Edgar at Privet Drive, hoping that your aunt would love you like her own. Professor Kettleburn quite assures me that this is untrue."

Harry snorted, refusing to answer.

Dumbledore sighed. "I am sorry Harry. I apologise to you, and I will apologise to your brother as well. There were still many followers of Voldemort's on the loose in the days following his departure from Godric's Hallow and I was worried they would try to track you down and harm you or your brother."

Harry immediately noticed he said 'departure' and not 'destruction.' It seemed Edgar, Caesar, and Harry were right: Voldemort was not gone, but hiding in the shadows.

"And afterwards?" asked Harry, waiting patiently.

"There were wards placed around your aunts' that would protect you and Edgar as long as you called that place home. It was the closest I could conceive in lieu of the Fidelius Charm, and that had failed your parents. I could not risk the last remaining Potters either."

Harry could almost, but not quite, read the words between what Dumbledore was saying. He tried to reason it out, verbally. "You had a reason, sir. And while Edgar and I hardly consider Privet Drive our home, or Petunia and Vernon and Dudley 'family' as the word implies, I understand you did what you had to during a period of war."

Dumbledore blinked, his eyes taking on a slight sheen. "That is very mature of you, Harry. I appreciate your words very much."

Harry shrugged, finishing his tea and placing the empty teacup on Dumbledore's desk. "We all do what is necessary at times, sir." Harry turned his head away to look out of the window, at a spectacular view of the Scottish highlands. "Just as I have done things that Eddy won't appreciate when he learns of them, or of things he already knows I've done—I did what was necessary at the time to ensure his happiness, or protection."

"You are truly your mother's son, Harry," answered Dumbledore, with a smile. The sombre mood passed as Dumbledore leaned forward, and asked enthusiastically, "Now—tell me if you are planning any midnight strolls with your father's invisibility cloak anytime soon? May I recommend the seventh floor corridor? There is such a lovely lavatory there…"

Harry burst out laughing.

*

While it didn't sit well with Edgar that Dumbledore had placed them in a generally unhappy home and left them there deliberately, Harry had no issues with it at all. In the letters that followed the incident, and as exams loomed, Harry and Edgar soon found themselves at odds on the issue of Dumbledore.

Harry, of course, knew how it felt to do something that he might not want to do, but was best solution at the time; he had done it often enough when he sacrificed his own studies or meals to ensure that Edgar was not bullied by Dudley or his gang, or the other schoolchildren in Little Whinging.

Harry had hopes and dreams before Hogwarts of a rich relative finding them, and when he grew older, that dream turned to him receiving a scholarship for grades he could never displays at school on the Dursley's orders, and taking Edgar away. Harry would become a famous footballer; a politician and later Prime Minister of Britain; later, it was anything where he had enough money to take Edgar away.

Oh yes, Harry understood Dumbledore well. It didn't mean he _liked_ what the Headmaster had done… but he understood.

Edgar, however, was filled with anger and righteous fury against the wizard for circumventing proper channels of government. Edgar was still rather enamoured with laws and justice and government and authority, despite his own bad experiences with authority figures. Harry also did his best to keep Edgar away from the darker, nastier politics at Little Whining; he liked keeping Edgar in the dark as much as possible about what Harry got up to, ensuring bullies left Edgar alone, ensuring that the Dursleys never knew about Edgar's time in the school library.

It was unusual for the two Potters to be at odds, but Harry sadly realised that he was growing up, and possibly, away from his little brother. He didn't doubt that they would not be close—how could they not? They were the last two Potters—but perhaps they would soon be on different paths, learning different things. It made Harry sad and depressed for several weeks.

Things improved soon as the Potters "agreed to disagree" in one of their last letters of Harry's term at Hogwarts. Harry spent the majority of his time concentrating on his grades, and was found in the library with Theo, Nate, and Hermione.

They had commandeered a quiet, dusty corner in the library near a large stain-glass window depicting St. George slaying the dragon. A window seat, unusual for the library, was an added bonus.

Hermione would madly quiz them, and the boys would take turns answering her until they knew all the answers she threw at them. They were quiet confident that they would pass their exams with flying colours.

Harry knew that Hermione's blitzkrieg style of studying was beneficial, and thanked her profusely once their potions exam was complete. She laughed and waved her goodbyes to the Slytherin boys as they turned to the Great Hall for dinner, and she, to the Gryffindor common room.

Cedric, however, came upon them with his friend Mike Summers. "Harry! Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" asked the Potter boy, looking in surprise at Cedric's flushed face.

"Dumbledore's in the hospital! McGonagall and Snape are going mad, rushing about, and Quirrell's disappeared!" Cedric explained in a rush.

"What?" gapped Theo, wide-eyed.

"Apparently," interjected Mike, "Quirrell was going after whatever is in the third-floor corridor and Dumbledore and Snape knew about it. They went to stop him! But something happened and now Dumbledore's in the hospital wing."

Harry, Theo and Nate shared a look of surprise. Snape had seemed fine barely two hours ago when they had him breathing down their necks during their potions exam.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, sceptically.

Cedric rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Nate shrugged when Harry looked at him. "I know as much as you, Harry."

Harry let out a breath. "I guess we'll have to wait and learn about it like everyone else."

Of course, he was lying; he and Theo and Nate would use the invisibility cloak and visit the hospital wing soon enough—after dinner though. They didn't want to be given away by their growling stomachs.

*

They had to wait until near curfew, but they managed to sneak out without anyone in Slytherin being any of the wiser (Slytherins always snuck out after curfew). The three boys fit comfortably under the cloak, and crept up several flights of stairs and down several dark passageways and had one, very worrisome near encounter with Mrs. Norris, but were soon sequestered in the hospital wing by Dumbledore's bed.

He was arguing good-naturedly with Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, about lemon drops or something and how they couldn't possibly interfere with Snape's potions, but Pomfrey was adamant.

Finally, once she left, sternly waggling a finger at Dumbledore's crooked nose to, "Get some rest because you aren't as spry as you once were and I saw those wobbly knees, Albus!", the three boys moved closer.

"I was wondering when you three would show up," Dumbledore finally said, turning at looking directly at Harry and startling Theo so bad he yelped and nearly knocked over a bedpan.

Dumbledore chuckled and Harry grumbled as he removed the cloak and folded it.

"Your curiosity will one day be the death of you," cautioned the Headmaster.

Harry shuffled his foot. "Eddy always says that."

"And he would be right," muttered Nate, rubbing his ribs where Theo's elbow had hit when he yelped.

"I imagine you're here to ask what happened?" interrupted Dumbledore, eyes twinkling as he took in the dynamics of the three Slytherin boys.

Harry, Nate and Theo all shared a look and turned their imploring gazes on the Headmaster, who chuckled some more. "Now, now, boys—I have been Headmaster for quite some time. I think I can spot that look coming a mile off." He sighed wistfully, recalling his own youthful escapades. "However, I think I shall tell you what happened."

"How come?" asked Theo, suspiciously.

"Because Harry needs to know, as some of it relates to him, and you are his friend, Mr. Nott. He would tell you anyway," explained Dumbledore honestly.

He cleared his throat and continued, "The wards I placed around a certain, priceless artefact were tripped after your exams this afternoon. The artefact, if falling into the wrong hands, would grant someone of a Dark nature almost limitless wealth and near immortality. An agent of Voldemort's had been hiding in the castle, and, I must say, right under my nose. Professors McGonagall and Snape, and I, went down to the room where this artefact was residing and fought the agent."

"Quirrell," interrupted Nate softly. "And the third floor corridor."

"Yes, very good, Mr. Moon," answered Dumbledore, nodding at Nate who flushed under the praise. "We managed to stop Professor Quirrell from obtaining the artefact for his master, but he perished in the ensuring fight. And Voldemort escaped."

"So he's still alive," sighed Harry. "I had thought as much." The four were silent, and then Harry shifted his weight. "Thank you, sir, for telling me and trusting my friends and I with this information."

Had Harry have any Legimency skills, he would have been humbled by the proud, awed thoughts Dumbledore had at that moment, thinking about his maturity and handling of the situation.

Unfortunately, Harry still did not know what Legimency or Occlumency were, having barely skimmed his _Mind Magics_ book. The boy did know, though, that _this_ was what the hat was speaking of, several months previous: there was more to the story than Dumbledore was currently telling, a reason why there were so many wizards and witches interested in him, Harry Potter.

And it had something to do with his destiny… and Harry was ready to meet that destiny head-on. Maybe he had a choice, and maybe he didn't… but he wasn't going to sit around and wait, no—he was going to learn, understand.

_A touch of destiny? When he was done, it would be more than a touch_, thought Harry determinedly. He thought back to the black king he carried in his pocket, and wondered if fate was taking a larger interest in his life than he previously thought.

As Theo and Nate shuffled the invisibility cloak over Harry's end, and murmured their goodnight's and goodbye's to Dumbledore (who was shooing them out of the hospital wing), Harry shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and his hand closed around the king piece.

"Kings to you," he murmured under his breath.

King, indeed.

*

TBC...


	3. III: Plots

*

**Claudio**:  
O, what men dare do! What men may do! What men daily  
do, not knowing what they do!

_Much Ado About Nothing (IV, i, 19-21) _

*

_Chapter Three_

Edgar snatched all of Harry's first year texts on the first day of summer vacation, and eagerly reread them. Knowing about, but waiting, for his attendance letter from Hogwarts was maddening, and luckily the Dursleys didn't let too much change despite the threat of magic hanging over the Potters' heads: they continued to perform their chores and that kept Edgar out of the most trouble and from thinking too much about the magical school.

Having not told the Dursleys about his inability to perform magic during the summer and in a non-magical neighbourhood, Harry was able to get more food, and was allowed to have more control over his life than he previously had before Hogwarts. Edgar also received the benefits of this, and Harry was glad to see that Vernon, Petunia and Dudley remained distant from the Potter brothers.

Harry kept up a steady correspondence with his friends, and even spent several hours during June on the phone with Hermione, much to his relatives' surprise; in fact, after learning she was the daughter of two dental surgeons in Reading with a "normal" sedan, a "normal" career, they seemed more than happy to encourage that friendship.

By mid-July, Harry was planning on taking Edgar for the weekend to Diagon Alley and renting a room for the two of them at the Leaky Cauldron. They could meet up with his friends, and encourage Edgar to explore the magical world and get more exposure to it so he wasn't as ill-prepared as Harry was (or could have been without his brothers' push to study and Kettleburn's cryptic hints).

Edgar was very eager to go to Diagon Alley, and the Dursleys were fairly happy to have the Potter brothers out of the way for a weekend. Harry made plans with Theo and Nate, and Hermione's parents (via a telephone call) offered to chaperone the children—although they implied it was because they actually wanted to see the Alley and the magical world that Hermione was now a part of. Although all the Slytherin students could see through the act, the boys were grateful for the Granger's offer and accepted.

The plan was made and Harry decided to call the Knight Bus instead of taking the Granger's on their offer to come from Reading to Surrey to pick him and Edgar up. Armed with both British pounds and wizarding Galleons, Edgar had Harry up at dawn and the two were on Magnolia Crescent by seven.

Reminded of their first trip on the Knight Bus with Kettleburn nearly a year previous, the two chose sturdy and comfy seats and held on to the armrests, with Harry trying to ignore his rising nausea and Edgar's grin. Harry was even more convinced now that Edgar would be on the Quidditch team for whichever house he'd be sorted into.

Once the Knight Bus dropped off Harry and Edgar outside the Leaky Cauldron, the two boys set out with their plans—first to get a room at the Leaky for the weekend, and then meet Theo, Nate, and the Grangers outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop. Introductions were made and the Grangers asked a few questions about the House system—for their benefit and Edgar too, who was quite glad to hear Hermione's opinion on it as well, from being outside Slytherin—and a few others, and then they were off to Gringott's.

Once Harry and Edgar visited their vault and stocked up on their yearly allowance and Edgar made a few additions and changes to their portfolio, the group of five students and two adults slowly meandered down the Alley towards Ollivander's—Flourish and Blott's was going to be left for last, especially knowing Edgar and Hermione's passion for books.

Edgar was nearly splitting his face in his eagerness to get to Ollivander's and receive his wand. Harry, on the other hand, was a bit queasy. He still remembered Ollivander's cryptic words about his wand and Voldemort's being brothers. If his wand was to be a brother to anything, it ought to be his real flesh-and-blood baby brother!

"Ah, Mr. Henry Potter," began Ollivander breezily as the two stepped first into the establishment. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, powerful wand, isn't that right?"

"Yes," answered Harry simply, and Ollivander's eyes slid to greet the remainder of the group entering behind the elder Potter brother.

"Theodore Nott, ash and thestral mane, fifteen and a half inches, excellent for transfiguration; ah! Mr. Nathaniel Moon, elm and Augurey feather, twelve and five-eights… rather swishy." Ollivander seemed happy, bouncing from one magical student to another and offering tidbits about their wands. Harry wasn't sure if that was his normal way of greeting people or if he was showing off for the Grangers. "And Ms. Granger, vine wood and dragon heartstring as its core, twelve and a half inches, very rigid."

The old man turned on his booted heel, his long tailcoat-styled robes swishing about his waist in a Snape-like fashion, until he faced Edgar.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Edgar Potter," he murmured. "Come, come, let us see which wand chooses _you_. Perhaps even one as powerful and commanding as your brothers'?"

Edgar seemed suddenly bashful, tempted to stay behind his brother in the line up that had formed as the group entered the dingy store. Harry, rolling his eyes, nudged Edgar forward with his shoulder until the younger boy was in front of him.

"It's your _wand_, Eddy," whispered Harry, "How could you _not_ be excited for it?"

Edgar nodded, straightened and held out his right arm. "This is my wand hand."

"Good, good," nodded Ollivander, who snapped his fingers and a measuring tape flew about Edgar, measuring here and there. The man disappeared behind his store counter and down a long, dark row.

The group could hear him muttering, and Hermione's parents ("Please call us Celia and Tony, dears.") decided to sit on the few offered seats against a low wall that ran parallel to the storefront's dirty and thick glass window, where a single purple cushion held a white wand.

"How long did it take to get your wand?" asked Theo to Harry and Nate, while Hermione began to browse the shop's two racks of books on wand care in front of the counter.

"Twenty minutes or so," answered Nate, absently. He was staring down the aisle that Ollivander meandered.

Harry shrugged. "I think it was barely ten. It seemed he knew which wand I was to have after eliminating the rest."

Theo nodded, glancing at Harry's younger brother as the boy bit his lip and restrained himself from bouncing in place.

Ollivander reappeared rather suddenly from an entirely different aisle to which he went down previously, with several stacked boxes floating behind him. A negligent wave of his wand had the boxes floating behind hover in midair, and some landed softly on his countertop.

"Now, let us see, let us see," the old wizard began, motioning Edgar forward. Ollivander held out a wand from an open box, muttering, "Hawthorn, unicorn mane, thirteen inches…"

Edgar shifted forward, reached out for the wand, and barely dropped his arm in a mid-swish when it was snatched from his grasp and was back in Ollivander's.

"No, no, not unicorn," the man muttered, banishing several boxes back into the dusty recesses of the aisles, while several others flew in the opposite direction towards the front of the shop. "Try oak and dragon heartstring, young Mr. Potter."

That too was snatched from Edgar's grasp as a vase exploded from the far right of the store, causing Celia Granger to shriek in surprise as she and Tony were covered in water drops.

Ollivander dried their clothes with a flick of his wand, casting a nonverbal spell and the Grangers thanked him; Eddy was flushed in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Eddy!" said Harry, "You'll find your wand, promise!"

"Yeah, it's all cool, Eddy," cheered Nate and Theo, calling their own encouragement to the younger Potter.

Hermione even offered her own support, "It took me nearly an hour to find my wand, Edgar; don't worry about it."

Bolstered, the young Potter continued through several more wands: oak, ash, three holly based wands, nearly six elms until he found out willow-based wands worked best. From there, it was all about the core: unicorn was out right away, and so was dragon heartstring. From there, Ollivander began guessing randomly (or so Harry thought) until Edgar grasped the latest wand twenty minutes later and a golden glow surrounded him.

Those in the store cheered and Tony Granger even whistled loudly between two fingers in his mouth.

"Ah, bravo, bravo young Mr. Potter!" exulted Ollivander. "Willow, griffin feather, twelve inches and seven-eights... a wand made for defence and, I daresay, very strong spellcasting."

"Great job, Eddy," murmured Harry as he reached forward and clasped his brother on the shoulder, and drew him in towards him for a tight, quick hug. "A brilliant wand—I know you're going to be a great wizard."

"Thanks," murmured Edgar back, squeezing his brother just as tightly. Before they separated, though, Edgar felt Harry slip something into his hand.

"Kings to you, brother," Harry said, lowly, as Ollivander tallied the price of the wand and Theo and Nate decided to chip in together and purchase a wand holster for Edgar.

Edgar looked down at his hand, fisted slightly, to the black king piece. He smirked, a tiny little twitch of his lips, and slid the chess piece into his jeans pocket.

The next stop on everyone's list was Flourish and Blott's for their books, as Edgar would use Harry's old items that he didn't need anymore (which only consisted of his Hogwarts robes that he outgrew the past year, and several texts he finished).

The first thing the group noticed was that there was a line that extended past the open, double doors leading into the three-storey bookstore.

Theo nudged Harry. "Look, they're all women."

Nate, who had been explaining something to the Grangers and Edgar, the three of which were listening to intently, failed to notice the byplay. Hermione, however, huffed. "Honestly, didn't the two of you read the _Daily Prophet_?"

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione, with a slight scowl on his face. "Granger, seriously; do you think my relatives would let an owl deliver a wizards newspaper to their perfect little house?"

Hermione flushed at the slight, but let it pass. Instead, she answered her own question. "Gilderoy Lockhart is here doing a book signing and reading."

Theo snorted and coughed to disguise his scorn. "That fool?"

Hermione's flush deepened. "He's written a ton of excellent self-help books!"

"Self-help _fiction_ more like," sneered Theo at the girl of the group, and then sneering at the female line up. "He's a ponce, Granger. He's got big blue eyes and fluffy blond hair and he's won Witch Weekly's best smile however many years in a row… but he's still a bloody ponce worth nothing more than a knut."

Hermione shook in rage. "How dare you—he's written about amazing encounters—more than could be said about _you_ Theodore Nott—he's talented!"

"Talented in bollocks, maybe," continued Theo, with a smirk. "He's a laughing stock of the academic world, Granger. Do your research for once. Didn't Harry tell you that books lie? And he's the biggest liar there is!"

Harry looked very uncomfortable here, caught between his best friend and Hermione as the two argued across his face. Hermione's parents saw his reaction when they realised that they, Nate and Edgar had neared the door without the other three.

As Celia came close to intervene before a round of fisticuffs broke out between Theo and Hermione, Hermione decided that they were not worth her time and barged past her parents, pushing Nate out of the way, and barrelled into Flourish and Blott's; she left her parents, Edgar, Nate, Theo and Harry standing outside in stunned silence.

"She must get that from you," Celia finally commented, looking at her husband. "You tend to run away from a fight whenever you're proven wrong too."

Tony looked wounded, and shot his wife an eye roll, before ushering the Slytherin second years and Edgar into the shop.

"Sorry about that, boys," the toothy, brown-haired Muggle said, cringing a bit. "Hermione's had a hard time accepting that she can be wrong when she's so used to being right."

Nothing was said, and Harry pulled Edgar away from the group to find his first year texts. Theo and Nate took the Grangers in search of Hermione, and they offered to meet up on the second floor by the staircase in an hour.

Pulling Edgar's list out of the Hogwarts envelope, Harry scoffed. "Clearly, Lockhart's our Defence professor." A loud cheer from the crowd on the first floor drew their attention and they leaned over the banister, staring at the crowd for several long, silent minutes.

The two Potters had equal looks of contempt on their faces as Lockhart arrived in a flourish of green silk and a toss of his velvet cape over one shoulder. Both Harry and Eddy had dark scowls on, their brown and green eyes narrowed behind their spectacles.

"What an arse," muttered Edgar, finally.

"_Can I bite him, Henry?_" hissed Caesar, peeking between Harry's collar of the Oxford-and-T-shirt combination he was wearing. "_He _is_ your Defence instructor this year, is he not?_"

"_Later_," hissed Harry negligently. "_And we'd have to make it look like an accident. Plan something_."

Caesar hissed back his affirmative, and Harry rolled his eyes at Eddy, who laughed at the conversation. "Let's find you some real defence books, little brother."

*

The group met up without hitch, and Harry was pleased to see that Theo and Hermione were involved in a conversation and ignoring everyone else; Harry took that as a sign that they made up from their earlier fight, although Celia Granger was keeping a keen eye on her daughter—so perhaps not _everything_ was all right… Harry was certain Hermione was going to get an earful at home that evening.

As the group descended the steps, Harry kept one eye on the large crowd that seemed to be hanging on every lie that fell from Lockhart's lips. The blond, flashy wizard had moved to a cleared space next to the stairs, where the most natural light filtered through a large, domed skylight, illuminating all three floors. A low table and chair were pushed near the crowd, and several books of _Magical Me_, Lockhart's biography, were displayed.

"Oh, look!" called out Hermione, drawing the groups' attention to her, as she pointed at a single person in the crowd. Harry's eyes darted to the miserable-looking, plump Neville Longbtoom, standing next to his formidable grandmother in a vulture-hat. "It's Neville! I'm going to go say hello!"

The girl darted forward and breezed past Harry, lightly tapping him on the shoulder but with enough force that Harry reeled back from it—half expecting a swinging swipe from Petunia, Dudley, or Vernon despite his current location—and over balanced into an excited Lockhart who was sweeping his arm back to gesture.

"Ah, my apologies, young man, I didn't see you there," the wizard beamed, casting a look at the adoring public. "Eager for an autograph, of course you are, let me just grab my pen—great Merlin! _Harry Potter_!"

Harry mentally groaned as Lockhart grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him into his side; a photographer from the _Daily Prophet_ snapped a picture of the two, and Harry plastered a vacant, bored look on his face instead of the annoyed one he was sporting.

"Witches and wizards—it's my great pleasure to announce that I, yes, I, Gilderoy Lockhart—that's winner of Witch Weekly's Best Smile category eight times in a row," he flashed his pearly whites at the crowd and a witch swooned into a faint, "Will help educate our talented witches and wizards at Hogwarts this year. Yes, you heard right—I will be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor! And who better than a man who has faced such dangers as werewolves—_nay_, vampires!! Not once, but _thrice_!"

The crowd loved it, and Lockhart's agent, a vapid looking, but beady-eyed brunette in pinstripe robes dumped a ribbon-tied collection of Lockhart's books in Harry's arms.

"Compliments of Gilderoy," she breezed, "Although such a gift is not to be considered as a token of friendship, or means that you can use his name and image for your own personal gains."

"… Whatever," said Harry, rolling his eyes and turning on his heel to face his friends and brother, the latter of which stood anxiously.

Harry did his best to manage around the crowd, the ribbon-tied books swaying dangerously in his underdeveloped arms, but despite the strain Harry managed to make it to Theo and Nate, only bumping into a large group of redheads who blocked his path at the last moment.

He physically groaned out loud.

"Oh, my dear, dear boy," crooned a high-pitched and loud voice. "Percy, help the poor dear!"

A tall, gangly red-haired boy (presumably Percy) reached forward and helped Harry by lifting the book collection from his arms.

"Thanks," said Harry, breathing heavily through his nose.

"You're welcome," the redhead began, looking him up and down and then finishing, "Mr. Potter."

There was a bubble of silence that formed around him for a brief moment, until something bushy nearly collided with him.

"Oh, Harry I'm _so_ sorry!" Hermione was babbling, and Harry found it to keep up with her. Her parents, Edgar, Theo and Nate appeared behind her and on the fringe of the redheads moments after she finished speaking. "I didn't even _think_ when I saw Neville, because I just _had_ to go over and say hello and then you got caught by _Lockhart_…"

"Breathe, Hermione. _Breathe_," instructed Harry, rolling his eyes over her head at Theo, who smirked and hid it behind his hand.

Harry turned to Percy. "Thanks, again, Percy." He paused. "It's Weasley, right? The prefect from Gryffindor?" At Percy's surprised nod, Harry continued. "I already bought my books for the upcoming year, so if you'd like, you can keep those. Lockhart's agent didn't stop to ask, and I really have no need or room for them to be lying about."

"Ah," blinked Percy, surprised. He looked down at the large collection, and then at his siblings. Fred and George Weasley, the twins that Harry only knew by reputation and by warning to stay away from, were watching Harry carefully; Ron Weasley, who Harry knew quite well to be vocal and narrow-minded, was glaring at Harry and what Harry was sure was his 'charity'. The final Weasley that Harry saw was a small red-haired girl with large brown eyes, similar to Eddy's, and a splatter of freckles across her nose.

"I'm sure Ginny could use the books, didn't you say so, Mum?" queried Percy, turning to his mother, who was looking gobsmacked at Harry. The older woman blinked twice before shutting her mouth and nodding.

"Yes, yes, of course, but are you sure, dear?" the woman asked, looking askance at the book collection.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, Eddy already got the collection last year so we've already got it," he lied, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and rocking back on his heel. Edgar quickly glared at him but then adopted an innocent, suffering look when the group turned to him.

"Edgar…?" trailed off Percy, glancing between the two. A look of understanding passed through him. "You have a brother?"

Edgar scowled. Turning to his brother, he drawled, "You get all the fortune and glory, don't you, Henry?"

"Piss off," the older brother cheerfully replied, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's shocked gasp and the slight scold from Celia.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley, a ruddy-nosed man with a large bald spot, "Are you starting Hogwarts too?"

Edgar nodded. "This year."

"So's our little Ginny," the Weasley matron continued the conversation, smoothing a hand down the girl's straight red hair. The girl, Ginny, blushed heavily and glanced from Edgar to Harry, and then lowered her eyes as her flush deepened. The twins snickered. "Did you two need help? Shown around Diagon Alley?"

The woman seemed very straightforward, but Harry could hear the earnest tone and pushy notes to her voice. Harry felt a mask drop on his face, and behind him, he could practically feel Edgar tense.

"No, thank you, we know our way around Diagon Alley already," answered Harry, coolly, as he stepped back a bit.

"Oh?" the Weasley matron seemed confused. "But how, dear?"

"We were shown by Professor Kettleburn last year," offered Harry, as Edgar stepped up behind him, and Nate and Theo moved to his side. "And we're already with company at the moment."

Mrs. Weasley's wide-eyes slid over Harry's cool and stiff form to near identical expressions from Nate and Theo. She clearly recognised them and was ready to say something when another voice interrupted her.

"Ah, the Weasley family, and… Mr. Nott, Mr. Moon; oh, and Mr. Potter as well."

The group turned, nearly as one, to face a tall, black-dressed man with blond hair tied back from the nape of his neck. Draco Malfoy stood beside the man, wearing a similar, haughty expression.

"Draco," the Slytherin boys muttered together in greeting. Hermione and her parents remained silent and Edgar tipped his chin down in greeting, but said nothing.

"Malfoy," Ron Weasley hissed.

"Weasley," replied Draco with contempt. He turned away from the redhead to face Harry, Theo and Nate. "Father, have you met my fellow Slytherins? Of course you remember Theodore; beside him are Nathaniel Moon and Harry Potter, and…?"

"Edgar Potter," Harry introduced his brother. "My little brother."

"Pleasure," replied Malfoy, lifting his walking stick with his right hand, similar to doffing a hat. Harry noted his other hand held tight a grey-covered book, similar to the pattern on Lockhart's _Wandering with Werewolves_. Malfoy wasn't seriously getting a Lockhart book _signed_??

While Harry contemplated Malfoy being a fan of Lockhart, he was nudging his friends and brother closer to the Grangers and the main entrance of the store, eager to leave. He knew of the Weasley/Malfoy feud and had no desire to be caught up between it.

However, the wish was unheard and within moments the two youngest males were squabbling and suddenly Mr. Weasley was swinging his arm up and Mr. Malfoy was staggering back—and it became an all-out brawl.

Celia shrieked and pulled Hermione away from the fray, clutching the feather-light bags filled with the schoolchildren's purchases, and Harry pushed Eddy behind him, barking, "Stay with the Grangers, Edgar!"

Edgar obeyed, and Celia gathered him close and then ushered him and Hermione out of the store, with Tony remaining behind. The tall, broad-shouldered Muggle grabbed Harry by the shoulder and yanked him and Theo back from a rogue, fisted hand. Nate ducked another fist, and Tony Granger grabbed the back of his robe and pulled him towards the older man and then out of the store.

The group stood by the doorway, next to the glass window, and caught their breaths. Seconds later, the two Malfoys stumbled out, with their hair messy and faces flushed, but they maintained their dignity which was more than Harry could see from the Weasleys.

Mr. Malfoy nodded at the Slytherin boys, ignored the Grangers, and sniffed, "Come along, Draco," to his son and took off down the cobblestone lane, towards Gringott's.

"See you at school," muttered Draco, taking off after his father.

_Curious_, thought Harry, as he glanced over his shoulder at the pair, _Mr. Malfoy had dropped his signed book_. He shrugged; it was of no importance to him.

*

Harry, Theo, Nate and Hermione had a compartment to themselves on the Hogwarts Express; Harry had nervously encouraged Edgar to make friends on the train and to mingle with those in his year.

Despite being very glad that Edgar was joining Harry at Hogwarts, he was also very nervous and anxious about his brother's presence in the school. For years, Harry had done his best to protect Edgar from the darker aspects of Little Whinging and the bullying. Harry had revealed once to Albus Dumbledore that Eddy would one day learn that Harry did things to keep him safe and that he would not appreciate them when the truth was revealed.

The messier, darker politics that came to play at Little Whinging were still in existence and they existed at Hogwarts as well. Being in Slytherin meant that Harry had to be smarter, faster, _better_ than his classmates and dorm mates; these were the students who would one day become to politicians and CEOs in the magical world—the important and powerful.

While Harry took the brunt of bully's fists and their jeers, he carefully ensured that Edgar was kept out of the way and never saw the full extent of the damage that was wrought. Harry protected his face and hands and neck but allowed for hits to land on his chest and back and legs—those he could hide. Harry sacrificed his studies and time in the library to maintain a public appearance for bullies to focus on whilst Edgar was safely hidden in the libraries and under the watchful gazes of authority figures and adults. Harry snuck food for Edgar at the Dursleys and gave almost all of the portions he stole to his brother so he could grow strong and tall, eating only the basic necessity to survive.

Protecting Eddy had been on Harry's mind when he accepted Hogwarts' invitation; but with Edgar now attending the same school, he would learn the same tricks and games to protect his self—would he need his big brother to watch his back? Better still, could Harry ever _stop_ protecting Edgar and working from the shadows and behind the scenes to keep Edgar from knowing just how dirty Harry's hands were?

Harry wasn't proud of the things he'd done in the past; there were times when he initiated fights in the schoolyard because he heard whispers of plans and derogatory comments towards his brother… not because something _had_ actually happened.

There were times when Harry deliberately blackmailed or threatened other students or young adults in the Little Whinging area to ensure Eddy's happiness and protection when Harry couldn't be there: nights Eddy had to walk back to Privet Drive from the library alone, getting extra food from a local restaurant after learning about the owner's affair; Harry even once threatened Piers Polkiss, Dudley's friend, after catching the then ten-year-old with a pack of pills that he was trying to sell.

Edgar did not ever need to know about those events.

But now he was in a new area, one that Harry couldn't control, and he was very nervous about Edgar going off on his own and being hurt.

Nate nudged him on the seat and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You're clucking," the brown-haired, blue-eyed Slytherin said. "He'll be fine. Stop worrying."

_Christ!_ Thought Harry, _I'm turning into a right mother hen_. He gave Nate a rueful grin. "Can't help but worry 'bout him; he's my little brother."

"Exactly," answered Hermione primly. "He's _your_ brother. He can handle himself Harry. You've made sure of that, I'm positive."

Harry shook his head. "He's got no idea what he's up against. I kept a lot from him."

Nate and Hermione seemed confused, but Theo nodded slowly. The subject was dropped, despite Harry's rather anxious hand-wringing, and finally Hermione huffed, and left the compartment only to return with Cedric, and his friends Mike Summers, Horatio Landon and Gorman Cerwyn. The compartment was suddenly crowded and loud, and Harry was grateful for Hermione's intervention. The noise and boisterous company kept Harry from thinking and worrying about Edgar.

The company remained with the three Slytherins and Gryffindor until they split up at their house tables; Hermione at the far left of the Great Hall, next to the Ravenclaws and then Cedric to the aisle that ran perpendicular to the Slytherin table so that Harry and his friends were nearly back-to-back with him and his now fourth-year friends. Harry noted that around him at the Slytherin table were mainly silent and studious fifth-years, all anxious about their upcoming OWL year; Draco and the other yearmates were further down the table. A clear division in the year had already begun, but Harry felt no loss of friendship.

Harry craned his neck as the new first-years entered from the side door behind the professor's table, and easily spotted Edgar, who looked impossibly small and pale beneath his messy black hair.

McGonagall was calling the names out, and Harry took only the tiniest bit of interest in who went where, although he did watch who his brother took notice of.

"Creevey, Colin," was sorted into Hufflepuff and Harry saw Edgar clap for him, as well as a spacey, blonde-haired girl by the name of "Lovegood, Luna," who went to the Ravenclaws. Finally, it was his turn.

"Potter, Edgar!"

"_Another Potter?"_

"_There's an Edgar Potter? Who'd have thought?"_

"_I bet he's in Slytherin with his brother!"_

"_He's such a Gryffindor, look at him!"_

Whispers started up and Harry swallowed a lump in his throat.

"He'll do fine," whispered Theo from his right, leaning forward a bit to speak into Harry's ear. "He's your brother; you know whatever house he's in you'll take care of him."

"He's smart, Henry, he'll do fine," assured Nate from Harry's left, glancing back over his shoulder.

Harry nodded, still tense, and ended up in a half-squat on the Slytherin bench, looking over Nate's shoulder. Cedric, from behind him on the Hufflepuff bench, was leaning out into the aisle and nearly touching Harry, just as tense.

The two caught each other's eyes, and Cedric nodded fleetingly, and Harry remembered what the Hufflepuff boy said before Harry's own sorting: no matter where he or Eddy went, they were his friends.

The hat was lowered on Edgar and nearly engulfed his tiny frame, the brim settling on the wide lenses of his spectacles and pushing them to his nose tip, threatening to slip right off Edgar's nose.

Finally, after a few moments, the hat exploded, "_RAVENCLAW!_"

The second to the left table erupted into cheers and catcalls, and Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff all clapped politely, except Harry and his friends who cheered just as loudly as Ravenclaw.

Harry and Edgar caught each others' eyes and Edgar, despite being quite pale, gave a shaky smile. Harry returned it with a beam of his own, mouthing, _way to go_. He then turned his back on the Ravenclaw table, and concentrated on the conversation between Theo and Nate, inputting his own thoughts here and there.

Edgar could manage the rest of the night on his own, after all.

*

Harry's first week of classes went by quickly; the growing distance between himself, his friends, and Draco Malfoy and his group was noticeable to those who had previously spent time with the students the year before, but not-so-noticeable for the general Hogwarts population.

Harry caught Snape giving an approving look at Draco several times when the blond Slytherin managed to snub Harry and his friends at the table or during study period by maintaining a very public distance, but those unaware of Slytherin politics did not notice the slight. Theo, however, took great exception to the slight and spent the majority of their free time grumbling about it at Harry.

"Who does he think he is, just because his father is on the Board of Governors, or makes regular donations to St. Mungo's?" the young, weedy boy sneered. "He only makes the donations because everyone knows that he's nothing more than a Death Eater, buying his way out of Azkaban."

Harry rolled his eyes at Nate, who pursed his lips and turned his attention back to their defence books; none of the boys had purchases the Lockhart set, and continued reading books they preferred for their defence class.

Harry bit his lip, resolved to not say anything, and let Theo work his frustrations out in their coursework, until he nearly blew up the teapot they were transfiguring into a turtle.

"Calm the hell down," he finally muttered, furious. "Don't draw attention to it, that's all the little wanker cares about. He's doing it to rile us, but you know he doesn't hold that much power. Worry about it once we're in our fifth year. He's worthless, Theo."

It took several more minutes, but Theo was finally able to complete his transfiguration work without any more mishaps, and Nate breathed a near-silent sigh of relief behind them, where he shared his desk with Hermione.

Professor McGonagall noticed the exchange but didn't say anything in front of the class; she did, however, give Harry a very approving nod, glanced at his desk at his completed and slowly ambling turtle, and looked back at the eldest Potter with a thinly-veiled look of pride on her face.

After the evening meal concluded on the first Friday of the school year, Snape left the professor's table with a sour expression on his face, and began walking down the length of the Slytherin table until he stopped by Harry.

"Potter," the man sneered, "the Headmaster wants to see you in his office. Now."

Harry glanced up, in confusion—surely he hadn't done anything to warrant his Head of House's attention this early in the school year?—, and shared a quick glance with his friends, who gave him tiny nods of encouragement and confusion. From behind him, in his usual spot, Cedric murmured, "Go on, Henry."

From the corner of his eye, he spotted tiny Professor Flitwick stopping to speak with Edgar, and understanding dawned; the Headmaster wanted to speak to both of them about their placements at Hogwarts, and possibly to apologise to Edgar like he had done for Harry the previous year.

Harry offered to take Edgar to the Headmaster's office, as he knew the way, and Flitwick nodded and gave Harry the password. As the two walked, Harry pointed out portraits and classrooms for Edgar to remember. The two chatted, Harry with his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets and watching with a proud gleam as Eddy recited things he'd read about in _Hogwarts: A History_ to Harry about the school, and what he learnt so far.

"Gummi Bears," offered Harry, once they reached the stone gargoyle protecting the Headmasters' office. The statute gave its consent and moved aside, revealing a circular staircase. Harry ushered Edgar on it and once they were both firmly standing on a single step, the stairs began an upwards spiral.

Edgar gave a rather undignified squeak of surprise, and Harry did his best to muffle a guaff of laughter.

"You could've warned me," the young Ravenclaw grumbled.

Harry grinned at his little brother unrepentantly.

As the stairs reached the top of the tower, the door to Dumbledore's office was open; Harry decided to knock politely on the wood regardless, and waited for Dumbledore to speak.

"Ah, come in, Henry, Edgar."

The two Potters gingerly stepped into the office and Harry was quite happy to see that it remained the same as his previous visit: cluttered and welcoming.

"Please, have a seat," offered Dumbledore, almost absently as he finished writing on a yellowish parchment with a long, eagle quill.

The two boys waited, each in a squishy armchair in front of Dumbledore large, ostentatious desk. Finally, he put the quill down, tapped the parchment once with his wand. The parchment rolled into a scroll mid-air and a wax seal appeared, sealing it with the Hogwarts crest. It then floated gently over to a large pile of rolled scrolls on a low side table.

Dumbledore folded his fingers and peered at the Potter brothers, quirking a smile at Harry, who returned the smile with one of his own. Edgar, however, remained impassive.

"There were no problems with your first week?" the older wizard began.

Harry shook his head, already relaxing into the armchair. Edgar remained stiff beside him, but also shook his head.

"Sir, if I may ask," began Harry, curious about one item, "Why did you hire Professor Lockhart?"

Dumbledore hid a smile behind his hand as he peered over his spectacles at Harry. "Do you not think him an adequate professor, Harry? Capable of teaching you and your schoolmates?"

Harry grimaced. "I'd learn more from a hag, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Professor Lockhart has an impressive resume, and his quite capable of handling the defence class."

"Resume of what, sir?" finally asked Edgar, contempt in his tone. "Failure? I'm quite sure his only impressive talent is in acting."

The teasing light in Dumbledore's eyes slightly faded, and his face took on a more serious expression. "At the moment, Professor Lockhart is the best option available. I am in the process of already screening several potentials for next year, and of the few who have applied to the position, there is one or two that I am quite lobbying for."

"Applied to the position?" queried Harry, "I haven't seen anything in the _Daily Prophet_ about you looking for applicants. How do they know you're looking to hire, sir?"

Dumbledore seemed grateful for Harry's interjection, and replied, "Ah, did you not know, Harry? There is a curse on the Defence position!"

"Curse?" echoed Edgar, sceptically.

Dumbledore nodded. "Since the late seventies, that is, nineteen seventies, none of our defence professors have remained on past their first year. In fact, this occurred just two years after your parents' graduation."

"And Quirrell?" asked Harry, interested.

"He was our Muggle Studies professor before his transfer to Defence, and, as you know, he did not manage to maintain the position," explained Dumbledore.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He knew who cursed the position; however, it did mean that Lockhart would only remain on staff until the end of the school year or earlier.

"And now, I must get to the point of my asking you here," continued Dumbledore, turning to fully face Edgar. "I wish to offer my apology for placing you at your aunt's, Edgar. I had not known that Petunia would treat you and Henry as she has, and yet, even if I knew then what I know now, I would still place you there for your protection."

"Protection," sneered the younger Potter, his voice bitter, and tinged with what Harry recognised as defeat. "What protected us from Dudley, or Vernon and Petunia when they were angry with us? What good is protection from outside influence if you cannot be protected from within?"

"Edgar!" gasped Harry, agast. He was shocked at Edgar's tone and words. He knew his brother was harbouring some bitterness from last years' conversation and what Harry had told him of Dumbledore's apology, but he had hoped that the months away would have given Edgar some more maturity and growing experience.

"No, Harry, it is fine," sighed Dumbledore, his blue eyes clouded as he regarded the youngest Potter. "Edgar is more than right. There was nothing to protect you from dangerous forces within the Dursley household. It was a gross oversight."

"Damn straight!" shot back Edgar, slowly rising from his seat as he spewed more and more vitriol. "And what will you do to fix it, sir?" the tone turned sarcastic. "Will you send the Dursleys a note telling them to behave? Will you come by, in your purple robes and typical wizard appearance and tell them what they can and cannot do to us? What gives you the right to decide where Harry and I should live?"

Dumbledore's eyes remained clouded as Edgar threw accusation after accusation at the old wizard. Finally standing, the younger Potter trembled in emotion, and at Dumbledore's impassive face—clearly stating that he wasn't going to receive any answers that would please him or be what he wanted to hear—Edgar gave a wordless snarl of anger and stormed out of the office, stomping down the stone stairs.

Harry and Dumbledore remained silent, listening to the gargoyle's statue grate across the flagstone floor, opening, and then closing. Finally, Harry tentatively offered, "I'm sorry. He doesn't see it the same way that I do, sir…"

Dumbledore sighed, slumping slightly in his seat and Harry privately wondered if he was seeing a side to Dumbledore that most others do not. "It is fine, Harry," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It was much to hope that you and your brother would share the same opinion of my post-war actions."

After a few moments of silence, as Harry couldn't think of anything to help the older wizard, Harry asked, "Why did you place us with the Dursleys, Professor? It must be more than the blood wards."

Dumbledore looked uncomfortable at the question. "You are correct, Harry." He paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully, and he eyed Harry speculatively. "If I do tell you, you must not tell anyone else, Henry. It is important—despite your placement of Slytherin and not being what I feared you could become—should others learn of this, it may be used against you."

Harry nodded, promising to not tell a soul, even Edgar, if that was what Dumbledore wanted—as long as he received thorough answers, of course. Caesar, undoubtedly, would be told of the conversation, having been dropped off at Kettleburn's office.

"In an ideal world, had your parents died under normal circumstances, you and Edgar would be placed with your godfather, Harry," said Dumbledore slowly, choosing his words carefully. "However, due to several… events that occurred directly after Halloween, he was unable to take responsibility for you and Edgar. There was no one else that I could trust your wellbeing with, as at the time, one of your parents' close friends was revealed as a spy."

"And you figured that if they could get past my parents', then they could get past you," deduced Harry, nodding absently. "Anyone else could be fair game. You didn't know who to trust us with."

"Yes," hedged Dumbledore, slowly. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"And as for that level of interest in my brother and I?" asked Harry, who mentally ticked a point when he saw Dumbledore's wince. "I thought so. We're a special case—you don't do this for all the other orphans."

"True," agreed Dumbledore. "There is a reason as to why I have such a stake in you, and your brother's, continued existence."

"Will you tell me?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore looked pained, and his eyes darted from Harry's emerald and skittered over his knickknack collection to a far window, and they glazed over in memory. "Not just yet, Henry. You deserve to live and experience life before I burden you."

"Do you think I already haven't burdened myself by taking care of my brother by all means necessary?" he asked, quietly.

The headmaster sighed. "No, you are correct. You have done more than a child your age should… but to me, Harry, you must remember: you are still very much a child. And what I would reveal to you would strip that away from you, whatever is left of your childhood."

"And when will you decide that I'm ready for that, sir?" asked Harry, politely, calmly. "Is it something you decide or is it something that I should?"

Again, Dumbledore looked pained, but his eyes returned to Harry's. "If, by your OWL year, you believe yourself ready to know why I have such an interest in you and your brother, Harry, then I will tell you. But I will warn you now and only this once: once I tell you, things will change. Your life will be much harder than it is now, and those you call friend, you might not say then; for the truth is a great and terrible thing, Harry—and it has the capacity to hurt you more than any wound."

"I'll remember sir," promised Harry, rising from his seat. He had entered the office content and rather calm—but he left it confused… and more than slightly worried.

The sorting hat's word echoed through him as he made his way to the Slytherin common room; but this time taking on a much darker quality than they had previously.

_A touch of destiny_.

*

After Dumbledore's revelations about their home life, Harry and Edgar found themselves at odds… more so than they had the previous year when Dumbledore spoke to Harry. Edgar didn't like how Harry seemed to be taking sides, and Harry didn't like how Edgar couldn't see that it was war.

Harry was slightly disturbed by Edgar's near devotion to a strict set of authorial rules to govern people, especially given their history with the local police force, child's service, and the adults on Privet Drive who happily turned their heads in the other direction when they saw the 'delinquent' Potter brothers.

However, in the end, Harry reckoned it was a bizarre twist that Edgar was fascinated by justice and authority because of their lack of exposure to it—and therefore he hoped that all authority or those in positions of authority weren't as crooked as they experienced. Dumbledore's admission must have been quite the shock.

Harry let Edgar have his space—and Hogwarts was more than large enough for it. He remained mainly in the library with Theo, Nate and Hermione or on the Quidditch pitch when the teams' weren't practicing with his older Hufflepuff friends, playing football and cricket.

Edgar, he learnt, stuck to the Ravenclaw common with his friends Luna Lovegood and Gareth Octavian, or wandered the Hogwarts' halls with his Hufflepuff friend Colin Creevey, who had a camera and took pictures of everything and everyone (and nearly blinded Harry in the process, as he was quite taken with Edgar's older brother). He kept one eye on his brother and one hear in the Hogwarts' gossip vine in case his brother had any difficulties, but between the older Hufflepuffs watching him through Cedric's insistence, and Edgar's own perseverance, Harry didn't hear much.

In the meantime, within a week of school starting, a message appeared on the second floor in blood, near the girls' bathroom, declaring that the 'Chamber of Secrets was open, once more!' Harry hadn't a clue, but knew instinctively that people would blame him or Edgar, and remained as visible as possible on Caesar's and Cedric's urging.

By mid-October, Harry knew Edgar could handle his own about Hogwarts despite the Chamber of Secrets messages, and with no complaints from any professors on his performance, Harry decided to turn his attention towards his own education and socialising, and told himself that when Eddy was ready to talk to him about Dumbledore, he would.

However, Harry wasn't too sure about handling himself against the entire school. He was in the Great Hall, studying with Cedric and Cedric's friends when the second message and first petrified victim—Mr. Filch's cat Mrs. Norris—was found, on Halloween. Almost immediately, a war cry started up, with people in each house eager to blame someone else: and Harry's name repeatedly came up.

Cedric quickly pointed out Harry was with him the whole time, and Cedric's reputation saved Harry's arse. However, it did slightly damage Cedric's, as well as his friends', Mike, Horatio and Gorman—all of who previously had clean slates and were now suddenly pariahs of Hogwarts for sticking with Harry the Slytherin, the next Dark Lord.

"I don't like this," said Harry, that Halloween evening, after leaving Dumbledore's office with Cedric and his friends. "People seem more than happy to turn me into this scapegoat despite evidence against it… and to take you with me!" He snorted. "_Hufflepuffs_! As loyal minions to a Dark Lord!"

"You have to admit," began Horatio, a tall, curly-haired teen with brown eyes and a long neck, "that Hufflepuffs would make excellent minions because of how loyal we are."

"Yes, Rio," said Cedric, rolling his eyes, "Just go ahead and confirm the school's suspicions, why don't you?"

Mike and Gorman laughed, and Harry smirked along with Cedric, who grinned at Horatio's flush. The five were walking towards the kitchens—having shown Harry earlier that year and just locating it themselves—when Harry suddenly paused, his back eerily straight.

"Harry?" asked Cedric, a confused tone in his voice.

"Shh!"

The Hufflepuffs shared a confused look, as Harry's eyes darted back and forth, from wall to wall, portrait to portrait.

_"Kill. Must kill—so hungry, so very, very hungry."_

"Do you hear that?" hissed Harry, turning quickly in his spot as he tried to locate the voice, as it moved quickly from one spot along the wall to another. "Is there someone disillusioned here?"

Cedric frowned, but he and his friends cast several _finite_s around the area and failed to reveal a lurking student or professor. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"I don't like this, Cedric," repeated Harry, echoing his words but now for another reason. "Why am I hearing someone that no one else can?"

Cedric's frown deepened, and then a look of _something _passed over his face, but his quick glances at his friends kept him quiet. Harry caught the look though. It said, _later_.

Once Cedric had said his goodbye's to his friends, under the guise of escorting Harry to the Slytherin common room (which Harry saw right through and then rolled his eyes at the gullibility of the Hufflepuffs who didn't question it), he turned to his younger friend and demanded, "What did the voice say?"

"It was hungry. It wanted to kill," replied Harry promptly. He trusted Cedric implicitly.

"What did it sound like?"

"Sort of like a hissing, the vowels were… all… drawn… ah." Harry eyed Cedric. "It was a snake."

He nodded, his eyes shaded in the dark Slytherin hallways. "If people find out, Harry… you know what they'll say."

"I know," the Potter boy replied. He eyed his friend. "What about you, Ced? Are you going to stand by the next Dark Lord?"

Cedric laughed. "You are hardly a Dark Lord, Harry, and you don't have it in you to be one. But yeah, I reckon I'll stand by you if it gets worse. I made you a promise, didn't I?"

"But at the cost of your reputation in the school? These people don't forget," argued Harry. He swallowed thickly and hoped Cedric wouldn't pull away.

To his relief, the teen didn't. Again, Cedric's eyes glittered with the emotion that Harry only saw once from him, when Theo left the train compartment and before Harry was sorted. It was dark, and Harry inwardly shivered. "I don't forget, either, Harry."

*

In November, Edgar's friend Colin Creevey was petrified, and fingers once again were pointed at Harry, who bore them with strained silence and gritted anger. Theo was the one calming Harry down in class, but Harry's rage at his flippant schoolmates manifested itself into cool stares and icy, clipped tones.

His school performance didn't suffer; instead, he decided to maintain his academic persona but that too backfired, as students whispered he was looking up ways to hex them in their sleep. He was corrupting the Hufflepuffs with his association with Cedric; he was targeting the Muggleborns through Hermione in Gryffindor.

It was absurd.

Because of that, he nearly decided to not attend the Duelling Club Lockhart and Snape were hosting in December. In the end, he attended at Theo's urging, although he remained far behind the rest of the students, who clamoured for front-row seats: they were all eager to see Snape toss Lockhart on his arse, instead of eager for the club itself. Harry thought it was the first time anyone ever cheered the sour and rude potions professor on.

Edgar was back talking to him in light of the "Chamber of Secrets" and "Heir of Slytherin" nonsense, which was a plus in Harry's opinion, but still things were slightly strained as they, again, agreed to disagree. The younger Potter brother was off to the side of the stage, located behind Lockhart to avoid the man's attention, and Harry full-heartedly approved.

Sandwiched between Nate and Theo, the three Slytherins remained as quiet and unassuming as they could, and Harry nearly grinned when he saw Hermione sigh as Lockhart did a flourish with his wand that was worthless. The girl was still obsessing over the fraud, despite Theo's loud objections. It seemed that she and the other females of the school were the only one's who couldn't see Lockhart's deception—because Hermione was standing next to Neville Longbottom, who looked down at the girl with an odd look that bordered on disgust and surprise that someone of her intellect couldn't see what other saw.

Harry sighed, turning his attention to Lockhart, who looked flustered. Snape had just disarmed him, and was standing at his end of the long platform, smirking in true Slytherin fashion at the bumbling Defence professor.

"Ah, yes, right!" said Lockhart, obviously trying to sound cheerful despite his heavy breathing. "Excellent Severus! That was a wonderful display of the _expelliarmus_ spell, to disarm your opponent!"

Harry did have to admire one thing about Lockhart; he was more than capable of recovering after a public fall.

Snape's smirk turned into a scowl.

"Perhaps we should let the students try it out…? Ah, yes, everyone partner up!" called Lockhart, and Theo and Harry turned to one another. "Now, on three, you disarm each other only. Disarm, remember students!"

Theo mock bowed, almost querying, _ready to be smashed?_ and Harry dipped his head in greeting, raising a single eyebrow, as if to say, _oh, really?_

"One! Two! Three!"

There were shouts and spells, and smoke and sparks all over the Great Hall, as the students did as Lockhart instructed… more or less. Voices echoed in the cavernous room, with smoke from spells billowing up into everyone's faces, making people cough or duck or wave the smoke away with hands and wands.

"I said disarm only!" shouted Lockhart over the cries of injured students.

He jumped off the stage, and along with Snape, they began to restore order in the Hall. Harry warily eyed Snape as he moved through the crowd towards the back of the room, taking the furthest students while Lockhart took the nearest to the stage.

"Severus! Perhaps we should have the students watch two of their own!" called Lockhart, over the noise of the restless students.

Snape obviously agreed as he turned his beady eyes on Harry.

_Uh oh,_ he thought, as Snape barked, "Potter! Come here!"

Lockhart chose Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff. Harry and Smith bowed to each other, low enough to be respectful but not too low that they lost sight of their opponent.

"Wands at the ready!" gleefully shouted Lockhart, nearly prancing behind Smith. Harry was uncomfortably aware of Snape behind him. "On three! One, two… three!"

The two shouted their disarming spells; Harry's struck Smith's wand arm, causing him to yelp loudly, while Smith's spell flew wide as Harry darted to the right. The wand soared through the air, near to Harry, who caught it and returned it to Smith quickly. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps we should give the students a bit more show, eh, Snape?" jibbed Lockhart, nudging Snape in the side, causing the man to teeter slightly, and then glower at the blond Defence professor.

"Quite," the Slytherin head of house drawled, and he and Lockhart switched places to consult the two second years.

"Now, Harry," began Lockhart, who babbled on and on about something—Harry wasn't listening. Instead, he was watching with trepidation Snape and Smith; Smith looked terribly frightened at Snape being that close to him, while Snape looked positively _evil_ as he whispered a spell to Smith to cast.

"Ready Harry?" Lockhart was saying.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed absently, thinking which spell would be best to use. He finally decided on _confringo_ again, as he was sure to knock Smith back—if he aimed at his feet instead of at the poor Hufflepuff. Cedric would never forgive him for harming one of his own housemates.

A few minutes later, Harry was sure Cedric wasn't going to give a rat's arse had Harry actually hit Smith.

The Hufflepuff decided to listen to Snape, and as Lockhart hit "three" again, shouted _serpensortia_ to Harry's _confringo_. A large, green snake was conjured from Smith's wand, landing with a frightened hiss on the duelling platform, its fangs elongated as it balled tightly in a defensive position. Harry's spell had practically harmlessly ricocheted off the platform in front of Smith, only causing the Hufflepuff to jump backwards and land on his back.

"_Fools! Who dares to near me? I will bite you!_"

Harry paused; the snake was terribly upset and frightened, and Harry knew he could calm it down long enough to vanish it—but at the risk of showing his ability to the student population?

"Allow me!" cried Lockhart, striding forward.

"Oh, no, really that's not necessary," began Harry, nearly tripping over his feet as he backpeddled from the defence professor.

"Oh, Harry, this little snake is hardly something to worry about," laughed Lockhart, brandishing his wands. "Watch—_Volotieh Ascendieh_!"

Harry flinched as the snake went flying, jolted into the sky as it writhed and snapped, hissing. It landed close to the edge of the duelling platform, and, Harry was annoyed to see, near Edgar.

The fangs were widely displayed, and the snake continued hissing obscenities at the students standing near it, frightened.

"Don't move Eddy!" shouted Harry, darting forward, wand out and a spell at his lips to vanish the snake.

"Potter! Stand still!" snarled Snape from his end of the platform, as he too moved forward to intercept the eldest Potter—Smith and Lockhart remained where they were, dumbfounded.

The snake coiled in, ready to spring forward and bite the nearest student—whom Harry saw was Edgar's friend Gareth—and Harry just… _reacted_.

"_Stop it!_" he hissed, "_They're innocent, they're just children. They didn't conjure you here!"_

The snake coiled tightly and swung its head around, swaying as it asked, "_As you wish; will you return me then, Master?_"

Harry nodded, and muttered _finite_, vanishing the snake in a puff of smoke and dust. He was vaguely aware of a gentle hum and murmur of the students as they reacted to Harry's parseltongue ability. He glanced up at Edgar, seeing nothing of worth in his brother's face (after all, he too could understand what Harry was saying), but Gareth, beside him, was white in terror.

"What're you playing it?" the boy nearly shrieked, trembling so badly several other Ravenclaws around him had to help him stand as they half-carried him away from the duelling platform.

Harry glanced up, seeking his friends in the crowd, and saw Cedric's pinched face, as well as Theo and Nate's worried ones; Snape, he saw as he cut a glance to the side, appeared absolutely shell-shocked. Lockhart, too, was frozen in his spot as he stared at Harry in disbelief and wonder.

_Brilliant_, thought Harry, sarcastically, as he stormed out of the Great Hall.

*

TBC…

*

**Note on Lockhart**: I actually quite like him as a character. He's deceptive, cocky, and actually, IMO, very, very intelligent. Fanfiction makes him out to be a fop, a real vain idiot, but Lockhart isn't. He's a conman, first and foremost, and is able to recover from poor scenes easily and with charm and grace. I'd even go as far to say that he's more dangerous than Voldemort sometimes because—while Voldemort uses fear and pain as a main motivator—Lockhart is charming and cruel enough to erase people's memories so well that St. Mungo's can't return their memories… what makes someone essentially them. Voldemort just kills—Lockhart kills far more thoroughly by robbing people of who they are. I liken Lockhart to the Weeping Angels in "Blink," of the third season of Doctor Who, if you've seen it.

**Note on the chapter**: This would have actually continued, and probably be another twenty pages before reaching its conclusion, so I've decided to split it; Christmas hols, more petrified students, and the Chamber will be in the next chapter.


	4. IV: Duty

*

England expects every man to do his duty.

**Lord Nelson, the Battle of Trafalgar**

*

_Chapter Four_

A day after the duelling show, Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggleborn in Hufflepuff, was petrified. Harry was nearly isolated from everyone except his friends, Cedric and his friends, and Edgar and his friend Luna. Everyone else thought he was the Heir of Slytherin and the next Dark Lord.

Harry morbidly thought that if he were to truly become the next Dark Lord, he would start by not doing anything and leaving everyone on their toes—and then he was blackmail and bribe the student body into owing him. And then he would _own_ them, and would take over the world that way. After all, the older generation had to die sometime, and if Harry owned the next generation of Hogwarts students, they would be his when they all grew up and came into their power.

But… as it were, he wasn't a Dark Lord so his days of Lording were severely numbered to several brief nanoseconds of _thinking_ about coming into power—and gone just as quickly.

Instead, Harry kept his mind on the Christmas hols, as he was once again going back to the Dursleys with Edgar—and he certainly didn't think of the place as _home_; in fact, Harry thought, he was a bit like a displaced person with no home.

Edgar and Harry were dropped off by Hermione's parents Celia and Tony at the train station once more, and the two caught a bus that dropped them off near Magnolia Crescent in Little Whinging; they only had to walk a block or two of the winding, English streets before they were on Privet Drive, glancing at Christmas lights hanging from rooftops, Christmas wreaths hung on doors, and the occasional Virgin Mary lit up in house windows—the neighbourhood that the Dursleys lived in was a very traditional, white English area. Vernon and Petunia would not be caught dead around what they considered 'poor immigrant trash,' and were the greediest, social-climbing, racist yet hypocritical people Harry knew.

Petunia would force them to church service—as she had been brought up Catholic, coming from an Irish background, but attended an Anglican church—and yet then turn her head on the teachings of the church. Harry found it mind-boggling, and Edgar didn't even consider the Dursleys "faith" worth his time.

Unlocking the front door with the spare key under the floor mat, Harry ushered Edgar in the small row house before him, and then struggled to push his luggage through the narrow door and into the warm hallway quickly, to not draw the Dursleys' attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't work and Vernon barrelled down the narrow hallway, his thick neck red. "What the devil—Potter! Boy! Shut the door!"

Harry sighed, and pulled the door to Number 4 Privet Drive shut, just as an icy chill swept in, bringing snowflakes and a few dead leaves. _Petunia's going to shit kittens,_ thought Harry with another sigh. He'd have to clean it up after putting away his luggage.

Edgar had already moved up the stairs to the first door on the landing—their room—and had turned the light on. Harry could hear him shuffle the luggage around and him cooing softly to Iris, who found him just outside Privet Drive, having flown from Scotland to Surrey.

Harry turned away from the door and grabbed the handle of his trunk, and glanced up at Vernon, who had gone uncharacteristically silent; the man was also giving Harry an odd, almost contemplative, look.

The large man's head turned from Harry to the upstairs landing, and then back; the look of confusion hadn't lessened.

_Oh_, thought Harry. He and Edgar were usually inseparable. As the final two Potters, having grown up dependent on each other had the two of them acting like conjoined twins for the most of the time. Edgar would never have left Harry alone with Vernon unless Harry specifically told him to. No wonder Vernon was confused.

Unable to decide between bellowing at his ward for coming back for Christmas, or asking about Edgar, Vernon settled on a half-shooing motion and a half sharp gesture with his thumb for Harry to get upstairs.

Harry took extreme, dark delight in letting his luggage hit every step as he dragged it up the stairs.

*

Two weeks into vacation, Harry and Edgar were still not speaking; it boggled the Dursleys minds and had Petunia more paranoid than normal. Although Edgar was more than happy to back his older brother up in public at Hogwarts, and didn't believe any of the Heir of Slytherin stuff, the two still weren't seeing eye to eye on other matters and it had polluted their relationship—if there was one thing that Harry didn't know was that Edgar could hold a grudge.

Harry did his best to complete his holiday work, and then spent the rest of his time bundled up in his jacket and scarf and wandered around Little Whinging, stopping at his old haunts and hideaways, reliving the memories of what took place: the corner at St. George and Patterson Avenue where Dudley's gang caught up with him one afternoon after school and beat him black and blue; the smelly alleyway behind McGyvins' pub where Harry learnt about the owner's affair and the start of his blackmailing for a sanctuary for him or his brother if they ever needed it; the school rooftop where he first began to realise that he was _different_, and that he might have magic…

With his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets to avoid the cold—he didn't have mittens—Harry sighed heavily and wondered about Edgar. He had hopes that once Edgar would arrive at Hogwarts it would be like when they were both at Little Whinging Primary: the two would stick together like glue and watch each other's backs and take their steps forward together.

After the previous year though, Harry had already noticed the little changes in Edgar that weren't attributed to his big brother's attention. Harry wondered if this was what parents felt, letting their children grow up and move on in a life where they weren't the object of their attention or needs; Harry was finding independence was a cruel, double-edged sword.

Without thinking, Harry's feet took him to the old, stone building in front of him, located just outside of the main city centre of Little Whinging, separating the little town from the larger Epsom. The building was old—probably late seventeenth century, as some of the high windows looked eerily familiar to those seen at Hogwarts in certain wings—but there were some pieces crumbling around the chimney stack and between the road's low stone wall and where it attached itself to the building.

A smallish sign outside, near the low wall and gravel car lot stated, simply: 'Little Whinging Church, est. 1685.' Petunia would take her family and add-ons to this church every Christmas, every bank holiday, and when the boys were younger, every Sunday, until Harry left for Hogwarts.

Harry knew the Vicar by sight, and had seen him around Little Whinging often enough when he was doing his shopping or spending some time off with the population. He had always been kind to Harry and Edgar, and Harry wondered if that was why his feet took him so far away from the shops and arcades to the quiet peacefulness of the rural church.

Twinkling Christmas lights were draped across the eaves and around the inside of the windows, and a small wreath hung on each door entrance. A light dusting of snow had appeared over night, coating the earth and blanketing the nearby fields. Vicar Hornsby, a rather youngish man compared to the majority of other parish Vicars of only forty-two, was standing outside in a thick pea coat, scarf and woollies hat, putting up a notice on the outside door.

The tall, red-cheeked man stretched and turned to head back inside, but caught sight of Harry standing by the road, hands stuffed in his trousers, wearing only a light wool coat and his Slytherin scarf.

"Ah, Henry! Do come in," the Vicar greeted him, a bright smile splitting his face and giving a cheerful beckon with his hand. "Hot chocolate? You must have been walking quite a distance to get here from Privet Drive!"

Harry felt his lips' twitch. He did like Vicar Hornsby, and getting out of the cold would be nice. "That sounds nice, sir."

Harry shed his coat and scarf in the entrance way, where Hornsby pointed and instead of leading him through the rectory, he motioned that Harry should join him behind through a usually-closed door near—and Harry was in the church's kitchen.

The two were silent as Hornsby warmed the milk from a pan on the stove, stirring in the chocolate and then placed the mug in front of Harry.

"How are your aunt and uncle? And your brother?" Hornsby began, asking out of politeness.

"The usual," replied Harry, stiffly, "and Eddy's now with me at boarding school."

"Boarding school?" echoed Hornsby. "I never quite saw Petunia and Vernon as the types to let their son—or nephews—go away to boarding school."

Harry laughed. "No, they want Dudley near. But the school I'm at, well, my parents attended and the tuition was already paid for by them for when Eddy and I could go."

Hornsby nodded. "Nostalgia."

"Yes," agreed the twelve-year-old.

"Do you like it?"

Harry's face softened. "I love it there," he said, softly. "It's brilliant."

The two fell silent and then Hornsby asked, quietly: "Has something happened, Henry?"

Harry wondered how to answer that question. Of course something had happened: he now attended a school for witches and wizards; learnt that he—_he, Henry James Potter!_—was a wizard; knew that the creature that had murdered his parents was after him, still; that he was being isolated from his 'friends' at Hogwarts because everyone thought was the Heir of Slytherin; that he and Eddy were arguing about Albus Dumbledore…

"Yes," he wanted to say; instead, he shrugged, noncommittally. Hornsby, of course, could see right through it.

"How is Edgar? I haven't seen him since last years' Christmas sermons," the older man said, patiently, calmly. He wrapped his hands around his mug and Harry unconsciously mimicked him.

"He's good," replied the older Potter boy. "He's doing well in his classes; he stole my textbooks from last year to learn whatever he could ahead of class."

Hornsby smiled. "He was always like that, ever since he was young—you both were. Inquisitive, polite children, eager to learn."

Harry looked away. "Petunia and Vernon and half of Little Whinging wouldn't say so."

Vicar Hornsby frowned. "Do they really believe that you and Edgar attend St. Brutus's?"

Harry nodded glumly, and Hornsby sighed.

"How people could ever be so short-sighted, it always amazes me," the Vicar began sadly, "but that is the state of humans. We do not see past what is in front of us, and delve deeper to learn the truth—it is far too much work."

"Eddy's a bit like that," admitted Harry, feeling compelled to tell Hornsby.

"Oh?"

"Our Headmaster…" Harry trailed off, unsure of how to explain his situation without getting child's services or the police involved. "He knew my parents very well, even after they graduated. They were all working together with a few others to stop this… man and his… group from hurting people. Kind of behind-the-scenes." Harry smirked. "They were a bit like spooks."

Hornsby smiled behind his mug. "Your parents were secret service?"

"Kind of," admitted Harry, with a smile of his own. "But they were killed by that man they were trying to stop. Murdered. Anyway, the Headmaster placed Eddy and me with Petunia and Vernon because at the time it was the safest place for us. No one knew mum had a sister."

Hornsby was not stupid. "But of course, you were hardly happy growing up in the Dursley household."

Harry looked up sharply.

"Of course I, and others, knew what was happening in that house, Henry," the man continued, his eyes taking a far-away look. "I've spoken time and time again to your aunt and uncle; even Ms. Miller, from your public school spoke on your behalf to the Dursleys—as did the Headmaster at the time. Ms. Figg, too, came up to me often in the streets complaining about how thin you and Edgar looked whenever the Dursleys had her baby-sit."

"Why… why wasn't anything done? Someone called?" gapped Harry.

"Once, oh, maybe about a year after you and Edgar arrived at Privet Drive, back in '82, the police were called because a neighbour had heard Petunia scream," revealed Hornsby, a grimace on his face as he recalled the scene. "I remember it quite clearly—I was at Heather Connelly's, just two houses down, and we both heard the scream. Immediately we went over, of course, and you know your neighbours! Someone called the police and several were standing around outside, looking about in wonder."

"What happened?"

"I never did find out, but it was enough that it scared Petunia badly. The woman was pale as a sheet, trembling. All she kept saying was that you and your brother were little devils, and that she wouldn't look after either of you," answered Hornsby. He glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye, and smiled at him. "I saw you being cuddled in the policeman's arms, Edgar in another's, and thought to myself, 'How in God's name could such a small boy be a Devil?' and so did several others.

"However," the sighed, "You and Edgar were taken by the police that evening. From what I understood, they were planning on placing you and Edgar in foster care. Several days passed and then the next thing I heard on Sunday service from Mrs. Connelly, was that you and Edgar were back at your aunt's, and she was ready to shout bloody murder when she opened the door and saw the two of you back on her doorstep."

"That makes sense," muttered Harry, "Our Headmaster said Privet Drive was the safest place for us."

"Maybe from outside threats, Henry," admitted Hornsby sadly, "But they failed to realise the extent of dislike and fear your aunt holds for you—for whatever reason. I do not doubt that she had no hand in your raising, and that you took care of your brother. However, I think those of us who remember what happened that day, or heard of it later, realised that there was no way for you to be moved from that house. We had several repeat incidents over the course of 1982 and '83. And when you and Edgar kept returning… well…"

"Does that make it right?" asked Harry.

"Of course not," answered Hornsby, stiffly, "But sometimes even when good people try to do good deeds, there is intervention. And that intervention is not always for the good—at that time. Everything happens for a reason, a divine cause. We must remember that." He man finished sadly: "Sometimes even adults cannot change things they see as wrong. Sometimes wrong prevails."

Harry stared at the tabletop. "Edgar and I were practically tortured for a reason?"

"Henry…" began Hornsby, trailing off.

"I mean, we weren't really hit, only cuffed once or twice. It was more the chores and the lack of care. Love. Whatever, from Petunia and Vernon. The gleeful way Dudley would hurt Edgar and I, or Marge would sic her dog on Eddy." Harry looked up. "There's a purpose in that?"

"Perhaps," sighed Hornsby. "It hurts to think about it, though. To know you went through that and that there is _no_ reason. That it just happened _because_. If I think that that all happened to you and Edgar, for a purpose, a reason, an end result—well, it makes me believe that there is hope that things work out for the best at the end."

"I suppose," said Harry, quietly. And thing at the Dursleys had helped him; his cunning and intellect, as well as Eddy's, had helped Harry in his first year by not alienating anyone at Hogwarts; his cousin's games of 'Harry Hunting' certainly helped him in how to deal with bullies and issues at Hogwarts, especially within the Slytherin dorms.

It was like looking at the glass half-full instead of half-empty; a cloud with a silver lining.

"Eddy's upset about it, though," revealed Harry. "I don't know how to handle it. I understand why our headmaster left us there… even if I'm unhappy with it, but Eddy can't understand. Or maybe he doesn't want to understand."

"He is still young," replied Hornsby.

"And I'm not?" retorted Harry, indignantly. His mouth settled into a thin line.

Hornsby laughed; a full-bodied laugh that shook his frame. "Henry, you have not been a child for some time. You grew up much quicker than others so that you could take care of Edgar, and to stand against the bullies in Little Whinging."

Harry managed the scowl that was on his face, and settled back in his seat, his hands warmed by the mug of hot chocolate.

Hornsby reached over and patted Harry's arm. "It hurts to see someone we love move on a different path than the one we are on, or the one we thought we saw them on, Henry," said the Vicar. His smile was kind. "However, just because he is not on the same path as you, does not mean that your paths do not intertwine. You might find that your paths will cross numerous times in the future."

The Vicar stood, reaching for Harry's empty mug and placing it in the kitchen sink. As he turned to face Harry, he offered one final piece of advice: "Whatever happens, Henry, know that you brother loves you and will always be there for you when you need him. It is destiny, you know."

*

Classes resumed in January and Harry found that he remained the leaper of Hogwarts. His friends stood by him publicly, and those in the Slytherin house found his position as the Heir to be either incredibly amusing (because they knew it wasn't true) or horrifying (because they believe it and wondered how could a Half-blood be the great Salazar Slytherin's heir?!).

In February, Lockhart had the insane idea to send 'message grams' to students who had admirers, and hired disgruntled dwarves dressed as Cupids to deliver singing Valentine's cards. Harry, despite his position in the school, was horrified to learn that he was a recipient of several cards—one notable singing and rhyming message from Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the brood and the one he gave his Lockhart books to back in summer. He still had moments of horror wash over him whenever he heard the word 'pickle.'

Several months later into the school year there were rumours and talk of Hogwarts possibly closing down if there was another petrification; Draco Malfoy had informed the Slytherin house—quite loudly—that his father was on the Board of Governors and they were arresting the same person whom they arrested years ago in connection to the Chamber of Secrets: Rubeus Hagrid.

Harry didn't normally spend time around Hagrid, but he did admire the half-giant, and knew that Kettleburn quite liked him. But Harry also knew that Hagrid wasn't the perpetrator because the man didn't have it in him to be cold-blooded or a killer. He knew that to be able to _want_ to hurt someone, you had to first have a desire for revenge and then the ambition and drive to follow through—Harry had done it often enough in Little Whinging in his own way. His fellow Slytherins, particularly those who grew up in households like his, were also able to follow through on their threats.

And as Harry watched Draco from beneath his black fringe, from a comfy couch by the fireplace and next to Theo, Harry realised that Draco Malfoy was no killer, and could never be a killer. He was all talk and no action, ready to follow on someone else's coattails to ride into victory. He dropped his father into conversations because he knew his father was the type to get things done (_even if they were the wrong thing_, thought Harry darkly, once again as Draco started on Hagrid).

He sighed, and glanced down at the textbook he was reading for Defence. It was worthless, and Theo and Nate agreed as well; Nate was doodling something in the margins of his.

"I need to get out of here," muttered Harry to his friends. Theo looked up from whatever he was staring at (Harry assumed it was his book, but his glassy-eyed gaze had Harry rethink that he was learning to sleep with his eyes open), and Nate stopped his swirls and squiggles.

"Where?" asked Nate, closing his book softly.

"Anywhere but here. Maybe just a walk about," replied Harry, rising to his feet and shoving his Defence book into his satchel. Theo and Nate copied him, and together they left the Slytherin common room and began a silent wander from one hallway to the next.

Caesar, draped in his usual position around Harry's neck, soon slithered out from underneath the collar and tie to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. After Christmas he spent more time with Harry, not venturing far into Hogwarts to explore the castle, having sensed his master's emotional state.

Ever since Cedric figured out that the voices Harry had been hearing was actually another snake, Caesar had taken it upon himself to learn if there were any other snakes in the castle. Unfortunately, he had not learned of any and since the start of the new school year, there had been no voices to follow.

Harry was tense, though; it was the calm before the storm and he was worried that everyone would get a false sense of security and then—he shuddered. He didn't want to think about the worse case scenario: the culprit never found and Hogwarts being forced to close… and he and Edgar sent back to the Dursley's and Stonewall Secondary.

"Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff later this afternoon," said Theo, trying to think of something to fill the silence, as the three walked past several gleaming suits of armour in the Transfiguration hallway. "Are you going to go to support Cedric?"

"Probably, if I don't get run off the field with threats to be lynched," replied Harry stoically. "This, quite possibly, might happen."

"Ah, the fickle friend that fame is," agreed Nate, trying to lighten the topic by injective levity into his voice.

Theo grinned at Harry, who despite his bleak outlook, grinned back. "C'mon, I reckon we can get a good seat in the Slytherin stands but far enough away that most won't notice you."

"Great!" Harry and his friends made a turn at the nearest hallway and began back towards the Slytherin dorms, where they gathered their coats. Although May, the Scottish highlands were still a bit on the cool side, especially up in the mountains where Hogwarts was located. With the nippy weather, and being unsure how long the game would last (Harry never estimated more than two hours; Cedric was an excellent seeker against the Gryffindor's Cormac McLaggen, who made it known to everyone that he was after their captain's, Oliver Wood, position), most students would bring their coats in case there was a sudden weather change.

As they passed the third floor girls' loo (Hogwarts had a very complicated stair system, where you never took a flight up or down to get where you wanted to go, but a rather in a roundabout way), they heard muted sobbing and several splashes of water.

"Moaning Myrtle's," muttered Theo, cutting eye at the closed, heavy wooden door. "The only ghost 'round here who enjoys a good pity-party all day and all night! Apparently she drives Gyffindor's ghost, Sir Nick, batty."

"It would drive me spare hearing a girl cry like that too," commented Nate, lowly, as they passed. "I wonder why…?"

"Forget it, Quidditch!" Theo chirped brightly, clapping Nate on the shoulder and heaving the boy forward as he lagged behind. "Moaning Myrtle's a ghost. She's not going to go anywhere in the near future, is she? Quidditch, however, will come and go."

There was already a throng of people moving towards the Quidditch pitch out of the school, and Harry, Theo, and Nate joined; they saw Cedric's mates a few yards ahead and they called out hellos. By the time they were shuffling into their seats (near the Gryffindor stands, unfortunately, as the Slytherin seats were all taken), Harry noticed Nate was glancing about.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

"You haven't seen Hermione, have you?" his friend replied, instead. "She's usually waiting for us in the entrance hall, but she wasn't there."

Harry blinked; he hadn't noticed, caught up in his own issues and worries, but now that Nate mentioned it…

He and Theo shared an awkward, worried glance, and began to scan the students packed in the viewer stands. Harry spotted Hermione's friend in Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, sitting with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Ron Weasley. Though loathed to go near Weasley, Harry decided to risk it to speak to Longbottom.

"Longbottom's over there; he'd know where Hermione is," said Harry, pointing the boy out, next to the shock of ginger hair that was the youngest Weasley boy. "Shall we go?"

The three pushed and scrambled their way a few tiers over, barely pausing to say hello to a small clump of Ravenclaws Nate knew as they passed through their viewing stands, until they were right behind the Gryffindor. The game had yet to start, but Harry could see Cedric with his team down on the pitch, speaking to Professor Sprout and out of the corner of his eye, Madam Hooch was determinedly making her way towards the two teams.

"Longbottom," greeted Harry, tapping him on the shoulder. The nervy boy turned, blinked once or twice, before managing a greeting of his own.

"Hi, Potter," he said, ignoring the sudden intake of air from his friends, and their sudden stiffness.

"I was wondering if you've seen Hermione?" he continued.

Longbottom shook his head. "She left the common room early this morning. Went to the library, I'm sure." He looked pensive, as trying to remember. "She had something to look up, about the whole Chamber of Secrets thing."

Harry nodded and grinned his thanks. "Appreciate it, Longbottom. Thanks, enjoy the game."

"Bye," the replied, turning back to the pitch and ignoring the hissed whispers from the other three Gryffindors.

Harry, Theo and Nate scrambled their way down the tiered stands, and were starting to make their way towards the school when a figure blocked their path; Harry looked up, surprised, and saw McGonagall before the three, a pinched expression on her pale face.

"Professor…?" questioned Harry, as she looked from one Slytherin to another.

"Potter, Nott, Moon," began the transfiguration professor, "there's… there's been another…"

"Oh, _God_," Harry moaned, suddenly paling and swaying. His brother and his friends had not been in the stands as they crossed the Ravenclaws to get to the Gryffindor section. "_Eddy_…?"

McGonagall shook her head. "No, not your brother." Harry felt a sense of relief pass through him, leaving him almost giddy and light-headed. That, however, all changed at McGonagall's next sentence. "Ms. Granger was found petrified on the fourth floor corridor."

*

Harry, Theo and Nate were huddled together, all arms and legs, as they shared one enlarged Infirmary chair that McGonagall had been kind enough to transfigure for the students. They seemed to be a state of shock or surprise, staring at Hermione's petrified form on the bed.

The girl looked the same, although one arm was extended, as though to ward something off, or warn someone and she had a permanently etched worried, pinched look on her face; her eyes were even open, although glassy.

Harry fought another shudder; she looked like one of those wax figures in Madam Tussaud's.

"She knew something," Theo muttered again, his face drained of most of its colour, leaving a sickly grey. "Otherwise she wouldn't have gone to the library this morning."

"I know," whispered Nate, agreeing. Harry felt his head bob, as he nodded.

"She must have known what she was up against," the other boy continued, eyes staring straight ahead at their Gryffindor friend.

"I know," echoed Nate, in the same monotonous tone. Again, Harry felt his head bob down. Was this what he and his friends were reduced to?

The group fell silent, watching Hermione, waiting for some sort of sign from her that she wasn't a living statue.

A distant part of Harry was aware of the pounding of feet, and the loud, reverberating bang as the Infirmary doors opened, and of the heavy breaths of Cedric Diggory as he strode up to the three despondent Slytherins. The Hufflepuff took one glance at Hermione's figure, and then took in the three pale, grey faces of the Slytherins who seemed to be at a loss.

"Merlin," he muttered, his eyes darting back to Hermione. "_Merlin_."

He rubbed a weary hand over his jaw and mouth, and then settled on a spare chair on Hermione's other side. He sighed, "I heard the rumours, but…"

"Yeah," agreed Harry, although he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to.

"I saw Eddy on my way up," tried Cedric, catching the three Slytherins' attention. "He's fine, he's with his friends. They were in the Ravenclaw common room the whole time, and they're going to stay there. That's what he wanted me to tell you, Harry."

"Great," sighed Harry, some tension leaving his body as he sagged against Theo, who barely took the weight, but then held upright.

The four were silent for a little longer, but then Cedric spoke again. "Aurors came and arrested Hagrid. Huge fuss in the entrance hall—I know he didn't do it though. Liked Hermione too much." His sentences were clipped, broken fragments, as though he was having trouble putting together his thoughts. "Malfoy's father was here too… Dumbledore's been removed as Headmaster."

_"What?"_

The shout rang through the infirmary, catching and echoing briefly back, and Harry winced as he heard his voice's pitch.

Cedric slumped in his seat. "I know. They think he's not doing enough to protect the students, because he doesn't know what's causing the attacks." Cedric looked away and rubbed on the back of his neck, his next sentence a whisper. "The students are pretty sure they're going to close Hogwarts down soon. No more than three weeks from now."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to ignore the burning, itchy prickling from them. _Back at the Dursleys…!_

The four sat in silence for several more hours, well past sundown, until Madam Pomfrey gently urged them out. None protested.

*

There was no changed two weeks later; Hermione remained the hospital, along with Justin Finch-Fletchley, Penelope Clearwater, and a few others. The only difference was that the mandrakes, used in the potion to revive the victims, would be ready for consumption by nightfall.

Aurors had been seen coming and going throughout the past two weeks, and the student gossip was saying that they were hoping to talk to the students about what petrified them. Harry wasn't sure if they were going to get anything concrete.

Edgar had gone to see Hermione on his own earlier that afternoon, having stopped by the Slytherin table and letting his elder brother know—since Hermione's petrification, the two were back on speaking terms and Edgar seemed to have let go of his dislike and grudge against Dumbledore… _or_, Harry thought, _he just learned to hide it better_.

Harry was with his friends, Cedric, and Cedric's friends Mike Summers, Horatio Landon and Gorman Cerwyn in the library, trying to figure out what Hermione had been looking at when she figured out the key missing piece in the Chamber of Secrets puzzle.

"All Pince said was that she was looking in the creatures section," sighed Horatio when he came back to their secluded little corner, despondent. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. "She was right pissed too, accused me of nosing about in none of my business."

"Gobshite," snorted Gorman, the only one of Cedric's friends who had a dirtier mouth than Harry's own, "She just didn't want to fecking tell you."

Theo and Nate ignored Gorman, concentrating on flipping through another one of the books they pulled off the shelf. The group had started on authors with last names starting in A early that morning, but were now on R with no results.

"What the…?" muttered Nate, catching everyone's attention, as he pointed to one of the books he was looking at. "A page is ripped out!"

"Shit!" snapped Cedric, glancing about worriedly. "Put it back on the shelf, Nate, and hope to hell that Pince doesn't notice or she'll have our balls for dinner!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "What book is it, Nate?"

Here, Harry's friend furrowed his brow. "It's… one of like, ten copies of _Fantastic Beasts_. There's no need to rip the page out."

"Get another copy. What page is missing?" asked Mike suddenly, as Gorman rose and dashed towards the magizoology section; as he disappeared, Edgar appeared around a tall bookshelf, panting. He was clutching something in his fist.

"Eddy?" asked Harry, rising from his seat. "What's wrong?"

The boy was still panting, his face red with exertion. "Hosp'l… 'Mione… paper…"

"Slow down, what are you saying?" asked Harry, concern on his face. He drew his brother close and steered him to his vacant seat. "Sit down and take a deep breath. Tell me when you're ready."

Edgar was taking deep gulps of air, and then trying to deepen his breathing into long inhales and exhales. As he did so, Gorman approached the table with another copy in his hands.

"Here," he said, putting the book down in the middle of the table for everyone to see. "What page is before it then?"

"Page six," said Nate, flipping them over. "We're missing the first page of the creatures, starting with A through 'til Diricrawl. The classification is all there though, and so is the introduction."

Cedric took control and flipped to the first page, his finger running down the page. "Acromantula… Ashwinder… Augurey… Basilisk…" at the last word, he looked up, face pale. "Henry—_basilisk!_"

Around the table, the boys all shared horrified looks. Edgar took the time to join the conversation. "That's what I wanted to tell you!" he gasped out, still red in the cheeks. "Hermione had a piece of paper in her hand," he said, unfurling his own fist. Nate took it and slid it against the rip in his copy of _Fantastic Beasts_. It matched perfectly.

"What… what did she find?"

Edgar looked at Nate, "She already figured it out that morning. It's a basilisk in the school, but she wrote something on the flip side, in the margin."

Nate took the paper, flipped it, and stared for a moment, before looking up at the group. They all waited, holding their breaths. "It says _pipes_."

*

The boys ended up in a small, off-shot alcove near the teacher's lounge, arguing about their discovery. As they passed from the library to the lounge, they overheard several teachers, in shaky voices, speak about the fact that there was a new message on the same wall as earlier. It read: _her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_.

A headcount was done, and the professors discovered that Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley brood, was missing (as were Harry and his friends, but Madam Pince had then piped up and explained they were defiling her precious books at the time, so they were all cleared from any potential wrongdoing).

Despite that, McGonagall seemed to have no clue on how to proceed, and the other professors were no help, alternating between crying bouts and intense fretting, lost without Dumbledore's firm leadership. Harry and his friends were quite lost, likewise.

"We need to figure this out," argued Edgar, the shortest of the lot and easily lost in the older Hufflepuff's black school robes. "Hermione left this as a clue—so let's finish it!"

Mike sighed, "Even if she did, Eddy, it's hardly our responsibility. The professors need to know about the pipes."

"Well, we can at least give them all the information, if we put it together," argued back Nate, sitting on a desk next to Harry and Theo, both who remained quiet.

"Fine," retorted Cedric, assuming leadership, "Then pipes. What did she mean?"

"Well, if it's a basilisk, that's been around for hundreds of years, it must be pretty big," commented Horatio shortly. "And since it hasn't been seen in ages—not first since Slytherin's days here as a Founder, and then fifty years ago, it can't be using the schools' hallways."

"Water pipes," said Gorman, "it makes the most sense."

"But what pipes are going to be the largest for a snake to move through?" asked Cedric.

"Where do most pipes come from and where do they go?" argued back Harry, finally speaking. "The kitchens and the toilets. And the waste has to go somewhere, just as we have to get the water from somewhere: the lake."

"Eew." Gorman scrunched up his nose. "We shower and brush our teeth in someone's shit."

Cedric rolled his eyes at his friend. "Yes, thank you, Gor, that was _just_ the right thought we needed at the moment."

Gorman shrugged, unapologetic.

Cedric sighed, running his hand around his jaw, leaning against a desk. Gorman and Mike were both sitting in proper chairs, pulled away from the desks that Cedric and Horatio were sitting on; Harry, Theo and Nate were across from them, sitting on top of some desks they pushed into a make-shift semi-circle, but Edgar remained standing, with his arms crossed, between Nate and Gorman.

"So which location is it? The kitchens or the loos?" asked Cedric finally.

"Not the kitchen," shot back Horatio immediately, "Or else we'd have a bunch of petrified house elves."

"House elves…?" began Edgar, but he caught Harry's shaking head and trailed off his question. Harry knew he'd make a mental note to read up on them, though.

"Then which toilets, which floor?"

"Where were all the petrifications done?" asked Theo, joining the conversation. "The first was the message, third floor, Mrs. Norris. The second attack was Colin Creevey," Theo gave Edgar a pinched look as he said it, "then Finch-Fletchley, at the end of term, again, the third floor. And now Clearwater and… H-Hermione."

"Second floor," inputted Horatio softly, conscious of Theo's voice break in Hermione's name.

"The pipes must be coming from the lower levels, then," said Cedric, breaking the silence that spread over the group. "It would make sense; the higher up you go, you end up in towers and circular classrooms, like the conservatory or Trelawney's divination tower. You're not going to have large pipes running up and down the stonework. They'll be smaller."

"But larger close to the ground, sloping enough to push the waste," agreed Mike, nodding. "And the lake is at a lower level than the school; Hogwarts is built on that cliff side that overlooks the lake. Remember first year, passing underneath the school?"

"So we're going to systematically go through all the toilets on the first two floors of the school?" questioned Gorman, with a look of distaste. "What about the dungeons? Only Snape knows that area best, but they're guaranteed passageways and niches that none of us know about."

Cedric sighed and Harry slumped. There was no way for them to figure out the location of the Chamber.

"The best solution is to go through all the loos on the third and second floors and work our way down from there," offered Horatio, sensibly. "We're running out of time though, now with the Weasley girl gone missing."

"Split up?" suggested Mike, cringing. "I don't like it."

"No, it sounds a bit too horror film," agreed Harry, and at everyone's blank looks, shared an amused grin with Edgar, who grinned back.

"We're running out of options," pointed out Nate, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "We need to make a decision and soon."

Cedric looked from his friends to Harry and his friends, and then at Edgar, who stood defiant against the two groups, arms crossed. Finally, he pulled rank. "We search the two floors, one group on the third, one on the second. If we find the entrance, we let the others know. And if we don't, we look in the dungeons together."

"And then what?" questioned Horatio, diplomatically. "We're fourth years, Ced; Harry and his friends are only second years, and Eddy's a firstie."

"We can go to a professor then, let them know," suggested Nate. "We're not ready to handle a near thousand year old basilisk, anyway."

"And they are?" snorted Theo, darkly.

Harry sighed. "It's the best option at the moment. Let's go."

Harry and Edgar joined Cedric and Gorman, while Theo and Nate joined Mike and Horatio. "I have Caesar too, so he'll notice things we might not," continued Harry, stroking the python as he popped his head out from underneath Harry's collar.

Mike shuddered. "To each his own," he muttered, and then his group left, heading for the second floor.

Harry, his brother, Cedric and Gorman went directly to the third floor, starting at one end of the school and making their way around in an elliptical arch, as nothing in Hogwarts ever went straight. They looked in several bathrooms, but there was nothing out of the ordinary except for scaring two sixth year female Ravenclaws at one point, who shrieked and swatted at Cedric and Gorman, who gawked at the amount of flesh on display.

A sob and moan from the remaining bathroom on the floor had the group of four staring at the door in dismay.

"Do we have to?" Edgar whined, sounding very much like the eleven-year-old he was.

Cedric grimaced and pushed open the door, Harry following him in and Gorman herding the group at the end, muttering obscenities under his breath.

The translucent form of a heavy-set girl in pigtails and horn-rimmed spectacles (which were now in style, ironically) drew their attention, and they watched as she moped and floated just a bare inch above a single toilet in an open stall. Her chin was quivering from trying to withhold her sobs.

"Erm, hello," started Cedric, unsure of how to start.

"Oh!" the girl squealed, half-disappearing into the stone wall behind the toilet. "What're you doing here?" she continued nastily.

"Just looking for… um… anomalies," continued Cedric, uncharacteristically flustered.

"Anomalies in what?" continued Moaning Myrtle, who now sounded interested.

"Not quite sure," muttered Cedric, scratching the side of his cheek. He glanced at Gorman, Harry and Edgar, pleading with one of them to continue.

Edgar, it seemed, had a stroke of brilliance, and asked, "Myrtle, may I ask how you died?"

The ghost beamed happily, ad a slight silver flush appeared over her cheeks, making her translucent form a bit more solid looking. "Oh, yes! Of course!" she gushed. "It's was _horrible_," she began in relish; she was a born storyteller—or born drama queen. "That mean, nasty Olive Hornby was making fun of my new glasses, you see, and I was oh so upset, so I came in here to have a good cry."

"That wasn't nice of her," commented Harry, catching on. Myrtle liked a good pity; the worse, the better.

"Not at all!" she agreed, trilling. She was now hovering in front of the four. "So I came in here and locked myself in this very stall." She paused, sighing. "Then I heard the door bang open; I thought Olive was coming back and had followed me in to make fun of me some more."

"Was it?" asked Edgar.

Myrtle shook her head. "No! It was a boy's voice. And then he started speaking… some strange words, or slurs. He wasn't too far away, probably near the sinks. I came out of the stall to tell him off—and then I died."

"That was it? He never cast a spell at you, or anything?" asked Gorman, sceptically.

"No," shot Myrtle irritably, her good mood vanishing. "All I saw were two yellow eyes and I felt my body fall as I lifted up out of it: a ghost."

Harry glanced, startled, at Edgar and then Cedric. Two yellow eyes? Dead before she hit the ground? Slurs and words that didn't sound English?

"Oh, fuck," said Gorman, as he put it all together too. The group turned as one to look at the sinks, not against the wall across from the stalls in the other bathrooms, but in a circular fountain design attached to a very large central column that extended to the ceiling.

They had found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

*

By the time the groups met up again, they had all decided to remain near Myrtle's bathroom, arguing on their next step.

"We need to tell a professor!" argued Horatio. "We can't fight a bloody basilisk!"

"Who're we going to tell then, hmm?" asked Edgar, flushed in anger. "McGonagall's Acting Headmistress and she's floundering, unable to make any decisions!"

Cedric shrugged as Horatio's eyes turned to him. "It's true. She doesn't know what to do in light of this whole mess with Dumbledore gone. She's a good professor, Rio, but she's not a very good leader."

"Flitwick? He was a duelling champion in his younger years," offered Mike.

"He's an option," agreed Theo, while Edgar grudgingly agreed with a nod.

"Sprout?"

"Absolutely not, she's too soft. Spent her time in the lounge crying about the Weasley girl. So's Sinistra."

"Snape?"

"… would you like to be the one to tell him we found the mythical Chamber of Secrets?"

"No, good point."

They continued listing the professors, until they came to the last.

"Lockhart?"

There was silence and then everyone burst into laughter.

"That fraud?" laughed Harry. "And you want him to face a basilisk? Great idea for murder, maybe, but I doubt he'd do more than faint at the thought."

"True," said Theo, narrowing his eyes in thought, "But he _is_ considered a well-respected and known author, isn't he?"

"Of fiction, I believe you told Hermione back in Diagon Alley," reminded Nate, crossly. "Surely you haven't changed your mind?"

"Oh, no," grinned Theo, and it was nasty. "But as a well-respected author we could use him. There are tons of Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade, right? So we tell Lockhart where the Chamber is; we all know he's full of it anyway. He goes to the Aurors, tells them, and _they_ rescue the Weasley girl and fight the basilisk. Lockhart gets the credit and boost in reputation and we all live to see another day."

"I like most of it except the part where it boosts Lockhart's reputation and worth. He's a fraud," argued Mike, shaking his head. "It's very Slytherin, but it doesn't really change anything and we want him out. No one's learning anything from him anyway!"

Harry sighed and folded his arms. "At the moment, it's the best option we have. And we can force him to leave the school. You know, publicity—he'll be a busy man promoting his new book about the Chamber of Secrets, won't he?"

Cedric laughed. "Fine. You four go and we'll wait for you outside his classroom. I doubt any of the profs are still in the lounge; most are probably getting ready for Hogwarts to close."

Harry, Theo and Nate nodded, but Edgar was already half-way down the hall as soon as Cedric agreed, and they had to run a bit to catch up with the youngest Potter. As soon as they neared Lockhart's classroom, they heard muffled swearing and several bangs and thumps.

Confused, Harry shared a look with Theo and pushed open the door—and froze. Lockhart was shoving books and portraits of himself willy-nilly into open trunks, several already locked and pushed near the door for easy transport.

"Professor?" gapped a shocked Harry. "What are you doing?" Had notice already come in from the Governors that Hogwarts was to close?

Lockhart stumbled, nearly tripping over one fuchsia robe that lay half-in and half-out of an open trunk. The fluffy blond haired man gapped in surprise. "Potter!" spying the others with Harry, he amended his opening greeting. "And Mr. Nott and Mr. Moon and the youngest Potter as well."

"Professor? Is the school already closing?" demanded Harry, his eyes taking in all of the trunks and Lockhart's slightly panicked expression.

Lockhart's face beamed; he was going with the excuse, but Theo spoke up. "The school's not closing, is it professor?" his tone was steely. "You're running away."

"Erm," hedged Lockhart, blinking at Harry's best friend.

"Thought you had more bollocks," commented Nate, surprisingly at the slang, and he crossed his arms. Edgar remained silent, eyes guarded.

Lockhart seemed stumped, unable to come up with a reply—but then with a very sudden and surprising flourish he drew his wand from the sleeve of his turquoise robe and pointed it at the four students. "_Expelliarmus_!"

Theo, Harry and Nate's wands, which were held loftily in their hands, soared through the air towards Lockhart; Edgar's was in the holster the Slytherin boys had bought for him when he received his wand, but not for long. The youngest Potter had it out and pointed at Lockhart seconds afterwards.

Harry nearly squirmed and wiggled as he felt Caesar respond to the threat against Harry and Edgar, poking his head out from underneath Harry's tie and hissing, his fangs shown.

"Put it down, boy," instructed Lockhart, looking at Edgar and ignoring Harry completely, sounding far more accomplished and confident than he ever had all year. "You don't want to make this worse than it is."

Edgar snorted. "What? You running away? I think that's about the worst that anyone could do."

"Mind telling us why you're doing that, Lockhart?" asked Harry, evenly, as he kept his eyes on Lockhart's wand and not the man himself. His hand rose to stroke Caesar and calm him down; the snake listened and coiled back to rest around Harry's torso, but remained poised should Lockhart near him.

Lockhart sighed. "I'm certainly not going to remain at Hogwarts if there is a dangerous creature roaming the school, taking the lives of students. I value mine too highly for that," he confessed, tossing his head back slightly and bouncy his fluffy hair.

"And your books?" queried Nate quietly. "We already knew you were a fraud… but how did you get the information for them then, if you avoid dangerous creatures? Some of that information is a bit too precise."

"Simple," shrugged Lockhart, "I'm amazingly gifted at Memory Charms."

The Slytherins sucked in air from their teeth, nearly hissing, as the air in the room seemed to turn colder. _Memory Charms_, thought Harry angrily, _a simple spell with the means to ruin someone's life in four syllables_!

Lockhart continued. "But how fortunate the four of you are here! What a spin! Why, I found the three Slytherins arguing about how to use the Chamber of Secrets to their advantage—no real stretch here, Harry, given how the school detests you—and how dear Edgar was trying to stop you… a fight ensured, and in the aftermath, you all were struck so horribly with a collection of spells that you lost your minds…"

"A very lovely story, Lockhart, but excuse me if I don't allow that to happen," expressed a very cool voice with a barely hidden tinge of rage underneath the tone.

The boys started, turning to face Cedric and his three friends with their wands pointed at Lockhart; Cedric's expression was one Harry knew—it was the same, scarily intense look he had reserved for Harry previously.

Cedric Diggory was a very good looking teenager, whom Harry knew would grow up to have many admirers. But right now, Cedric reminded Harry of a statue: his face was resolute, firm and sharp, angling and hallowing his cheeks and the dip between his chin and mouth and highlighting the V his brows took. His eyes were hooded, head slightly lowered in a very old, primitive beckon of challenge; his mouth was a straight line, tight and almost shut, except for a few flashes of teeth here and there, as though Cedric was trying to control the muscles around his mouth.

The look in Cedric's eyes scared Harry though; it was unbridled rage that glittered behind the greyness of his iris. Usually when Cedric got into this mood—once before on the Hogwarts express the year previous when Theo was about to ask Harry's name, and then later in the darkness of the Slytherin dungeons stating he was stand by Harry, no matter what—Harry was unsure of what to think, as it was such a change from the kind, bright and clever boy he knew.

Harry didn't delude himself; he knew Cedric had hidden qualities that he didn't reveal to others. He was wickedly clever—his grades reflected that, despite a poor Charms grade here and there—and his reflexes were spot-on to be a Quidditch Seeker; he was also born near the end of Voldemort's first reign, three years before the Dark Lord had killed Harry's parents. He wouldn't remember anything from his childhood, not that early on, but it was bound to leave impressions on him that he would store away and that would later help shape him into who he was now.

Cedric's loyalty was a double-edged sword: popular opinion saw Hufflepuffs as blindly giving their loyalty to their friends and that's it—they failed to realise that when a Hufflepuff gave themselves to someone, they did it with an intensity that was frightening. They would put everything forward to protect their friends, as Cedric was displaying now.

"Ah, Diggory!" beamed Lockhart, although Harry could see beads of sweat gather at his brow. "How kind of you and your chaps to join us."

"Quite," the handsome Hufflepuff sneered—_sneered!_—and muttered, "_Expelliarmus_," as Gorman, Mike and Horatio added their own spells.

Lockhart's wand soared towards Gorman who grabbed it midair and then gleefully snapped it in two. Lockhart visibly flinched at the gunshot sound, and then wilted. Mike and Horatio were handing the Slytherins back their wands.

"So what now, boys?" asked a defeated Lockhart.

Cedric wasn't flushed, or pale, or even breathing heavily as he replied. "I think we go with a change of plans. Our first idea concerning you has merit."

Theo and Nate gapped, while Harry and Edgar frowned and drew closer, in comfort, as Gorman, Mike and Horatio stared at Cedric like they had never seen him before.

"Ced…?" asked Mike, slowly. "It was meant as a joke."

When Cedric refused to answer, Harry mentally sighed. What was it in Cedric's past that shaped the same kind of desire to get things done, no matter what the consequences, that Harry—and even Dumbledore—had?

"Ced," murmured Harry, coming to stand beside the Hufflepuff. "He's not worth it."

"Maybe not," muttered Cedric in reply, "but obviously the plan we came up with doesn't work. We'll take him to the Chamber."

"And what, leave him there?" asked Mike in horrified awe—or dismay, Harry couldn't tell—, and Horatio blinked in surprise.

Cedric shrugged. "It's not like he'll find a way out, will he? Consider it like a pit with only one way in and one way out."

"I like it," said Gorman, unsurprisingly. "Let's go."

Mike and Horatio seemed to gap in surprise, and didn't move for several seconds as Gorman and Cedric shuffled Lockhart out of the room, their wands at his back; Edgar was leading the man towards Myrtle's bathroom, and Harry, Theo and Nate brought up the rear behind Cedric and Gorman, leaving Horatio and Mike behind in horrified surprise.

*

"_You'll need to open it, Henry,_" said Caesar, who had remained silent for the majority of the evening, far more interested in watching and tasting those around him as Harry had run from one end of the school to another, although he had nearly made an appearance barely ten minutes ago in the Defence room. "_You or Edgar_."

"I'll do it," he muttered out loud, ignoring Lockhart's bewildered look, until Harry stuck his right arm out at his side, resting it lightly on the edge of one of the sinks and Caesar slithered down Harry's shirtsleeve.

The man yipped in shock, and stumbled back into Gorman and Cedric who both grabbed the man's arms and pinned them at his side, effectively blocking him in.

Harry shot Cedric a look—almost unreadable; was Cedric still sure he wanted to go through with this?

Cedric tersely nodded, and Harry ran a hand through his hair in response. Caesar, Harry saw, had slithered to the floor near the toilet stalls, and seemed unwilling to go any further.

Eyeing the sink taps, he, Theo and Nate began circling the fountain and looking for something that would proclaim it the entrance of the Chamber—and Nate found it.

"Here! A little snake is etched into the hot tap," he said, waving his friends over. Harry neared and Nate pointed it out—a snake curled into an S shape, hidden on the underside of the tap.

"_Open_," hissed Harry in Parseltonge, and at first, nothing happened. Then—

—there was a loud grinding noise and the sinks began to fall away, sliding stone against stone, grating and piercing. Soon, a large hole, enough for at least two fully grown men on brooms to fly down without touching each other, was revealed.

"Merlin's balls," breathed Gorman, as the group stared down the dark hole.

"Well, who's first?" interrupted Edgar, glancing from one to the other. When no one volunteered, he sighed and took a single step forward, and then fell into the hole.

"_Eddy!_" shouted Harry, in surprise and, utterly terrified, he jumped into the hole as well, right after his brother.

Theo and Nate shared an exasperated look, and followed their friend and his little brother.

"I think that answers it," muttered Gorman, as he prodded Lockhart. "After you, then, Guv."

Lockhart audibly gulped, and together he and Gorman jumped into the hole.

Cedric pocketed his wand, securing it, and took one moment to look at the hole. "Merlin," he muttered. "Sure this is one of your best plans, Diggory?"

He roughly rubbed at his jaw with his hand and spotted Myrtle out of the corner of his eye.

"You can share my toilet if you die down there," she offered with barely concealed gleefulness.

Cedric mustered up a rather shaky smile, and then without any reservations, followed his friends down the hole.

*

Harry rolled out of the pipe, as the hole turned out to be, slick with fungus and several centuries' worth of grime streaking up his black trousers and staining his white button up; the shirt had ridden up during his tumble down and his back felt itchy and scraped raw as well. His forehead was also throbbing, from where he fell face-forward at one point, creating a pain that echoed in time to his furious heartbeat.

Edgar, he saw, was already standing on shaky legs and trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his trousers, a nervous gesture he had not yet outgrown. Harry ignored his own shakiness and strode forward—far more steadily and confidently than he actually was—and let all the rage and terror he felt at seeing Edgar jump into that pipe bubble to the surface.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again, Edgar Potter, do you hear me?!" shouted Harry, grabbing Edgar by the shoulders and shaking him. "_Ever_! _Again_! _Never_!"

Edgar was startled; his brother had never lost his temper like he was now, his face pinched and pale with worry except for two very bright spots on his cheeks, narrowed green eyes and a near-snarl on his face.

Theo and Nate tumbled out, with Lockhart and Gorman almost immediately afterward, ending up sprawled and tangled with limbs.

"Gobshite!" shouted Gorman, an elbow banging into something.

"Ow, Merlin, that's my stomach!"

"Would you all _shut up_?! There's a basilisk down here and I'd rather not announce our presence!!"

Cedric finally appeared, doing a tumble roll and rose steadily to his feet in one, swift move. Harry was impressed, but not too impressed that he forgot that his brother was staring up at him in shock.

"Sorry… Henry," gapped Edgar, drawing Harry's attention back to the youngest Potter, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—it's just…"

"Yeah," agreed Harry, grimly. He pulled Edgar roughly towards him, into a tight hug, and then let him go just as quickly. "Let's get this over with. I don't want to be down here any longer than necessary."

Lockhart rose unsteadily on his feet, next to Gorman. Theo and Nate were standing near Cedric, looking around the dank, dark cavern with awe and curiosity, and Edgar was already leading the way down a narrow passage.

A single hoarse cry made everyone turn back, thinking they were going to see a bit of basilisk, but instead Gorman was wrestling with Lockhart for Gorman's wand—the Hufflepuff teenager lost it—and Lockhart was standing over him, breathing heavily.

"_Obliviate_!" the man shouted and Gorman rolled out of the way; Cedric was shouting something similar to 'get down, Gorman, get down!' and Theo and Nate had dodged to the side, Theo's wand out and a '_confringo'_ exploding from it.

The spell caught Lockhart's arm and the wand in his right hand tense and then another spell—_expelliarmus_—had it slip from Lockhart's grip but not fly out of it. Lockhart, furious, turned to Cedric, ready to shout again.

"Reducto!" shouted Nate, his own wand out now as he kept low to the ground and move away from Theo and towards Harry and Edgar.

The blast hit a few feet in front of Lockhart, but the man was still slung back, where he hit a jutted piece of rock; he slumped to the ground, moaning, and Cedric cautiously approached him in tiny, measured slides.

Barely five feet away and Lockhart stirred, eyes open and wand in hand up at Cedric.

"_Obliviate_!" he shouted again. This time, there were several shouts and worried cries, as well as a loud _bang_ and puff of smoke that surrounded Cedric and Lockhart.

"Ced?! _CEDRIC?_" shouted Gorman, racing forward and waving his hands back and forth to disperse the smoke.

A cough drew everyone's attention and a figure stumbled out of the smoke.

"Cedric?" asked Harry, stepping forward.

Cedric looked up, his face red. "It didn't hit me—the spell didn't hit me."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and in moments, the smoke floated away to reveal Lockhart, sitting on the ground with a rather dazzled expression on his face.

Nate moved forward, with Gorman, who spotted his wand and picked it up with disgust. The wand was snapped in two, probably from when Nate blasted Lockhart against the wall, and the furry tail of Gorman's wand core was burning.

"My wand," the elder teen moaned. "My parents are _gonna kill me_."

"They'll have to get in line behind a basilisk, Gorman," commented Theo dryly, as he pocketed his own wand. "Because there's no way in hell it didn't notice all that noise we made."

"Good enough point," agreed Cedric, "We'd really best be going."

"Going where?" questioned Harry. "They only way out is back up that pipe. And I highly doubt any of us brought brooms."

Cedric frowned. Harry thought the dirt and grime from his own tumble down the pipe made him look much older than he really was—and that reminded Harry that with Lockhart out of the picture, Cedric and Gorman were the oldest of the group… and they were only fourteen (well, Cedric was fifteen, but that was nitpicking).

"We'll find another exit," said Cedric, finally. "Just keep your eyes on the floor and if you hear anything that sounds like a snake, we stop. If we keep together we should be fine."

"And Lockhart?" asked Nate, nudging a toe against the unconscious man.

Gorman sneered, and Cedric paused, but only for a moment. "Leave him here," he finally decided.

Nate nodded, a rather fixed expression on his face that made Harry's insides burn with pride. Who ever said that Slytherins only look after their own skin? His friends were sticking by him.

The group crept as lightly as they could across the cavern's floor, which was littered with rats' bones and pebbles that fell from the ceiling, leaving it very difficult to avoid any sort of loud crunching noise.

Finally, they came upon a large, circular disk with two interlocking snakes with emeralds for eyes.

"Say something to get it to open," suggested Theo, standing on Harry's left side. Nate nodded from behind Theo, and Harry glanced at Edgar who also nodded. Harry was consciously aware of Cedric and Gorman directly behind him.

"_Open_," hissed Harry, and the large disk rolled out of the way to reveal a bright, cavern with a single flagstone pathway, lined with large rock snakes with water pouring from their mouths. Water surrounded the pathway, which led to a raised, square terrace. In the middle of the terrace, at the bottom of a statue of a man, lay a single figure.

"Stay here," ordered Harry to Edgar. "I don't want you anywhere near the Weasley girl. She could be possessed or something could have brought her here."

Harry turned back to the pathway, and glanced once more over his shoulder at Nate, who gave a tiny nod: message received. Gorman, wandless, remained stationary as Cedric, Theo and Harry moved forward, flanking the Boy-Who-Lived.

Their steps echoed, and their shadows flickered under their feet as they passed floating orbs of light. There were no noises except the _plink plonk_ of the water cascading from the snake's open mouths to the watery pools below.

"I don't like this," muttered Theo.

"Neither," agreed Cedric, just as quietly. "There's no way Weasley could've got down here alone."

"You're right."

The voice startled the three, and they jumped and spun with their wands out and facing the voice. From behind a column of a ready-to-spring snake a young man appeared, still half-hidden in the shadows.

The young man was wearing similar robes to theirs, only it seemed more tailored and slightly older fashioned—but there was no mistaking the Slytherin crest.

"And who're you?" asked Cedric, glowering at the teenager.

"Tom Riddle, and yourself?" he politely replied.

Harry didn't like the look of the wavy-haired, narrow-eyed teenager. He was pale-faced, extremely good-looking, and had the same charismatic posture that Cedric had—only Riddle seemed to also have an air of malice around him. It was carefully hidden, but Harry had spent enough time around thieves and liars in Little Whinging to recognise the tactic in others. Theo's stiff posture told Harry had Theo recognised the dangerous element in Riddle as well, and Harry wondered if Theo's father carried the same feeling.

"Cedric Diggory," replied Cedric, stiffly.

"Ah! And who are your companions, Mr. Diggory?" asked Riddle, continuing the charade of pleasantry.

"Theodore Nott," grumbled Theo, as Harry replied, "Henry Potter."

"Potter, you say?" asked Riddle, latching onto the last name. "As in, _Harry_ Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Yes," hedged Harry, very uncomfortable by now. "Why d'you want to know?"

"I've heard all about you, Harry."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

Riddle jerked his chin at the pale, unmoving figure of Ginny Weasley, but Harry didn't look; neither did Cedric or Theo. "Ginny Weasley, over there. She poured her _heart_ and _soul_ into telling me all about her life, and her hopes, and her dreams through her diary… and _you_ were mentioned as well. The Boy-Who-Lived, who survived when others before had not; who defeated the greatest Dark Lord in the past century."

At this, Cedric began edging towards Ginny Weasley, his movements slow and measured. It was still fairly obvious in the stillness of the Chamber, but Riddle didn't stop him.

"And how is it that you didn't know about me?" asked Harry, "I'm famous. Everyone knows who I am."

"I'm not from…" here, Riddle paused, as though searching for the right word. "…around here."

"So says every villain in a television show," muttered Harry, who rolled his eyes. "Could we be a little more specific, please?"

"I'm an echo of a student who was at Hogwarts fifty years ago," elaborated Riddle, smiling, despite it never reaching his eyes. "So I had no idea about the magnificent Harry Potter and the great Dark Lord he fought, until very recently."

_An echo_? thought Harry, narrowing his eyes at Riddle. The teenager stepped further into the Chamber, away from the shadows surrounding the pillar, and Harry saw what he meant now; he was flickering, slightly like an old film or a fuzzy picture in a camera lens trying to focus. He was nearly solid, but not quite there.

"She's barely breathing!" said Cedric, loudly, startling the three, who drew their eyes at the young girl lying on the floor. Harry noticed her ginger hair was much darker than her siblings, looking very much like spilled blood. Her book bag was off to her side, lying in a pool of water, and several books had fallen out of it.

"She won't wake," commented Riddle idly, as his gaze moved away from the young girl, back to Theo and Harry. "So, tell me, Harry," continued Riddle, conversationally, "how is it that a baby was able to defeat this Dark Lord? What extraordinary powers must he have?"

"What do you care?" asked Theo, "the Dark Lord was before your time. He only rose to power in the seventies."

Riddle smiled, again, thinly. "Because Lord Voldemort, Mr. Nott, was before, during, and after my time."

Harry narrowed his eyes, tensing and flexing his legs, ready to dart away if something happened; Theo copied him.

Instead, Riddle raised his left hand—which was holding a wand, possibly the Weasley girls'—and traced into the air, creating burning letters: _TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_.

"Watch," he instructed, and with a wave of his wand, the letters rearranged themselves. _I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_.

"You—!" Harry shook. It was the first time since his parents' demise that he was face-to-face with the man who murdered them. Although Riddle was an echo of the present Voldemort, Harry considered them one in the same.

Riddle's smile took on a sinister quality. "Yes, me," he agreed, stepping forward. Harry and Theo took a quick step back in response. Riddle didn't fail to notice, but ignored him as he continued moving forward, getting closer to where Cedric hunched next to Ginny Weasley, despite the distance Theo and Harry put between them.

"What did you do, Harry, that stopped Voldemort?" the man continued.

"I was a baby," snapped Harry, "how should I know?"

"Shame," mused aloud the dark wizard. His eyes travelled down Harry's messy head to the badge on his robes. "You're a Slytherin, Harry. Surely you can see that joining me would be more beneficial?"

Harry snorted. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before you went and killed my parents."

"Regretfully, Harry. Hindsight is, of course, not a quality we wizards possess. Even Seers cannot tell the future, despite what drivel divination spews," said Riddle, twirling the wand. "Divination tells of one possible future. And perhaps in one your parents joined me; and perhaps in another I never killed them. But I cannot confess to what my present self would want with your parents… and I shall never know. But in the meantime, I can at least continue what Lord Voldemort's plan was."

"And that is?" questioned Cedric from his position halfway between Theo and Harry and Tom Riddle. "Riding the world of Mudbloods?"

Riddle smiled. "Well, you did say it…" He turned to the statue of the man at the base of the terrace, and said, in Parseltongue, "_Speak to me, Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Founders four_!"

"How modest," sneered Harry.

"Oh, you speak?" asked Riddle, as he turned back to face Harry. "What a surprise," he murmured, "I hadn't expected _that_."

At this point, Harry wasn't listening; the mouth of the stone Salazar Slytherin had opened and a large, green-skinned snake had fallen out, slithering heavily around the terrace and towards Riddle—and by default, Theo and Harry. The two young Slytherins took off in opposite directions, wands grasped tightly in their sweaty palms.

Cedric remained stationary, next to the Weasley girl. He was monitoring her heartbeats, which were getting slower and slower as time moved forward.

"You can't run, Harry!" yelled Riddle, watching with beady eyes. "My basilisk will find you and your friend!"

Harry ignored his pounding heart and Riddle's words, and took off down the pathway; he had to trust that Theo could manage on his own. A shout and a crash had Harry glance back briefly—and it was enough to see the large snake was chasing him down.

Harry swerved, at the right time, and rolled, landing heavily on his shoulder as the snake ploughed into the spot he was just at, shaking the floor.

"Come, now, Harry! Stop playing around!" called Riddle, his voice moving. He was walking towards Harry. "Make this easy on yourself—no one is coming to save you!"

"I have hope that Dumbledore will know what's going on sooner or later!" shouted back Harry, as he dodged another swipe of the snake's tail, and then leaned heavily against the snake statue, landing in a shallow pool of water underneath the cascading waterfall.

"Dumbledore's been driven out of Hogwarts by the mere _memory_ of me!" shouted back Riddle. "He can never hold a candle to me!"

"Dumbledore's ten times the wizard you are, Riddle!" shouted back Harry, moving slowly through the water, watching edgily for the snake but not spotting it along the pathway or near Cedric and Ginny. Theo was no where to be seen either.

At the end of Harry declaration, Harry moved out from underneath the snake waterfall, and moved sloppily back onto the pathway. Distantly, he heard Cedric shout, "Henry, _behind you_!" and risked looking back to see the lunging form of the basilisk, and thankfully not its eyes.

Harry yelled out, wordlessly, and stumbled and tripped; the snake was slowly advancing on him, but Harry had his head turned away to avoid looking in its gaze.

"_Henry_!" another voice shouted; _Edgar_, thought Harry, worriedly.

Cedric was shouting, he could hear Edgar, and Theo and Nate as well—Riddle was hissing in Parseltongue for the snake to attack—but above all the noise, there was another sound, something similar to song.

The basilisk reared back—not to pierce, but to hide—and moved towards the watery pools as the song became louder and louder. A flash of bright light, overpowering the floating orbs, made Harry see spots, and he blinked the black dots away, only to stare in awe at the red-coloured bird with gold plumes, which clutched the sorting hat in its talons.

"Harry, that's Dumbledore's phoenix!" shouted Gorman, from near the entrance to the Chamber.

Bewildered, Harry took the sorting hat and put it on—_"Ah, Mr. Potter! How nice to hear from you again. A bit busy, are we? Well, yes, you have a role to play here… so let's help you grow into your role, shall we?_"—and then something hit him soundly on the head, knocking his seven ways to next Sunday, blinking and moaning in pain.

The sorting hat fell off, landing into a pool of water. Harry rubbed at his head, another lump forming far too close to the one he received from his tumble down the pipes. He twisted his head to glare at the offending hat beside him, but paused; something silver was reflecting in the shallow pool.

Harry reached forward with a trembling hand, and grasped. Smoothly, he extracted a sword for the deep recesses of the sorting hat (bizarrely wondering if the hat was similar to Mary Poppins' bag) and stared in awe at the large broadsword.

He shifted the hilt to rest more comfortably in his hand, warmed by the rubies and gold filigree, and nearly goggled when he saw the engraving: _Godric Gryffindor_.

"Dumbledore's pet phoenix and a ratty old hat?" sneered Riddle. Harry looked up and saw that the teenaged echo of the dark lord had moved closer to Harry during his brief blackout, and was now only several feet away, almost looming over him. "What good will those do? How will they help you, Harry Potter?"

"More than you can imagine!" said Harry, rising to his feet, the sword of Godric Gryffindor clutched in his right fist. "Because unlike prejudice Dark Lords, I've got something they don't have!"

Riddle looked amused. "Which is?"

"Friends," started Harry, spying movement out of the corner of his eye. "And tons of creativity!"

Harry jumped up and darted to the side, bowling into Riddle and shoving the older teenager to the ground in shock—he wasn't expecting a physical attack.

"_Attack him_!" hissed Riddle, pointing at Harry. From behind Riddle, in the deeper recesses of the Chamber's pools of water, the basilisk shot out, foam and spray and water going everywhere and splashing down onto the flagstone pathway and terrace.

Dumbledore's phoenix gave a great _caw_ and the warm, uplifting song echoed throughout the Chamber; the basilisk gave a mighty hiss of outrage, and something that sounded mysteriously like a scream. Harry glanced up, prepared to be petrified, but saw that the phoenix had pricked out both of the basilisk's eyes—effectively stymieing the basilisks' real weapon.

Cedric gave a mighty cheer from where he was protecting Ginny Weasley—and Harry saw Theo dart behind Riddle, keeping to the shadows and the snake statues.

"You might have blinded my basilisk," said Riddle, fury radiating off of him, "But he can still smell you!"

Harry had little time to prepare; within moments the basilisk was on him, and the phoenix was too far away to intervene, as were Harry's friends.

Harry was prepared to stop the basilisk if it meant that someone else could save Ginny Weasley and stop Riddle, so he hefted the sword upwards, as quickly as he could and tried not to flinch at the warm and damp humidity that encased the basilisk's mouth as the giant snake bore down on the small twelve-year-old. Harry gave a wordless battle cry—sounding terribly undignified, as he did so—and shoved the gleaming sword straight up as the mouth came down around him.

He felt something graze his back, splitting his robes, shirt, and tear his skin, creating a massive burning sensation: it was worse than the time when Dudley deliberately spilled a pan of boiling hot water on Harry at Privet Drive.

Yet Harry determinedly clung to the sword, now twisting it, and he felt blood and other fluids drip onto the shoulder and arm, and run down the length of his body. The basilisk began to wriggle, twisting this way and that, and then with a mighty _thump_ it fell to the Chamber floor.

The mouth was dark, and Harry felt incredibly dizzy. He unsteadily yanked the sword out of the mouth and the momentum had him tumbling backwards out of the mouth and onto the flagstone. The sword skittered away somewhere to his left, towards Cedric and Ginny, but Harry didn't care to go looking forward it; instead he blinked up at the roof, and the floating orbs of light, trying to focus on something.

"Henry?" a small voice asked, "Oh, God, Henry, can you hear me? Jesus Christ, don't you bloody die on me, brother! We're supposed to get through everything! _Henry_!"

"Roll him over, Edgar," commanded another voice, and Harry's view of the ceiling changed to the concerned eyes of his brother; green met brown and Edgar blinked hard, biting his lower lip.

"Merlin's balls," muttered the commanding voice, as a hand barely skimmed the air above Harry's back. He moaned, in pain, and knew elementally that something sharp had cut his back. "The fang's pierced him."

"He's dying," proclaimed Riddle, sounding entirely smug. "And nothing will be able to save him. He may have killed my basilisk, but I get the last laugh."

_Bad movie lines_, Harry wanted to say. Why didn't villains ever say anything creative or original?

Edgar's face in front of him was swimming in and out of focus, and Harry knew he wouldn't have much time left. He wanted to tell Edgar that he was proud of him; that he loved him very much; that he better not use anything Harry purchased on his own since being at Hogwarts because a boy's got to have some personal items that he doesn't share with his brother…

The singing of the phoenix song suddenly burst to life around Harry, and he sighed, gently. The burning pain from the basilisk fang was fading into the background and nothing but warmth surrounded him; he blissfully fell into the song, letting it sweep him away.

_It's not your time yet, my darling._ A warm, loving voice seemed to echo around Harry's very being.

_You still have much to go on your path,_ another voice, a male, inputted. Harry vaguely remembered hearing these voices before; almost two years now, during his own sorting when the hat dredged up hidden memories a one-year-old baby would have no way of consciously remembering…

The voices continued: _we love you. Take care of your brother, Harry… we'll meet again one day._

And then the burning pain was gone, leaving only a warm tingle that bordered on uncomfortable and Harry opened his eyes; Edgar was staring back at him, pale-faced and tear-stricken, clutching Harry's hand.

"Eddy," murmured Harry, groaning as he rolled to his knees and then up on his legs. Edgar was right beside him, helping him stand, as was Nate and Gorman; clearly, they had abandoned their relatively safe hiding place something during Harry's fight with the basilisk.

"That's not possible!" shouted Riddle, "The poison from the basilisk fang should have killed you!!"

"And the tears of a phoenix can heal almost any wound," argued back Nate steadily, ignoring the fact that he was up against a teenaged version of the dark lord.

Riddle sneered, a look that transformed his handsome face to something far more sinister. "No matter. The girl is dead—or nearly there, and once she is, I will be come completely solid and real… and a bunch of school children will not stop me."

"Doesn't need to be a bunch," grimaced Harry, as he leaned against his baby brother and Nate, staring steadily at Riddle. "Just one."

"What?" Riddle seemed completely flummoxed. "How could one of you defeat me? Planning on discovering that mystical Boy-Who-Lived power, Harry?"

"No," he replied, exhausted but trying not to show it.

"Then what?" the dark lord seemed confused, and was letting his emotions colour his thoughts—or else he would have realised what was occurring behind him. "You're too tired to fight me, boy! You couldn't raise that sword you pulled out of the hat for your life!"

"You're right," said Cedric, from behind the dark lord, causing him to spin around in surprise, "he can't… but I can."

Cedric stood proud in his filthy Hogwarts robes, the yellow Hufflepuff trim coated with grim and darkened with water. His face was set in a determined, stubborn tilt, and he had the sword of Gryffindor loosely held in his right hand. With Riddle watching, Cedric took the hilt in his hands, grasping it tightly and raising the sword as high as he could; ready to plunge it… into a book that lay next to Ginny Weasley.

"_No!_" Riddle shrieked, but it was a second too late; Cedric let the sword plunge down and pierce the book.

Riddle doubled over, in pain, his face an expression of terror and unimaginable pain. The book itself bled out ink, coating the sword tip, while where the sword pierced, the cover and pages were beginning to burn. It smelt like burning hair, or something else human, and Harry saw Cedric try to not gag from his position closest to the book, which was now on fire and steadily burning away—and yet leaving the book still intact.

Riddle was fading, flickering like the echo he was, in and out of focus. He face was agonised, and soon he was translucent, and then gone, in a tiny whiff of smoke.

There was silence in the Chamber.

"Is it over?" asked Edgar, softly.

"Yeah…" Gorman looked around, at the puddles of water; the orbs floating above them, giving light; and then at the large carcass of the basilisk, barely twenty feet away. Dumbledore's phoenix was also gone, sometime during the final scuffle. "Yeah, it's over."

"What about the Weasley girl?" asked Nate, and Gorman turned to look at Cedric and Theo, who was kneeling at the girls' side, trying to find her pulse at her neck. Cedric, however, seemed to be in shock, standing still, still grasping the hilt of the sword in his hands over the burnt-out book.

"Ced?" Gorman asked, moving slowly towards him. "C'mon, you can let go. It's over with; he's gone. The Weasley girl needs us."

Cedric heaved a shuddering exhale, and slowly pried his fingers free of the sword, despite his white knuckles and tight grip. "Right," he muttered, "Right."

The sword clattered as it fell to the ground, covered in ink, blood, and other liquids Harry couldn't identify. With Nate and Edgar helping him, they moved in one unit towards the fallen girl.

"I can't find anything!" Theo said, in frustration as he raked his hands through his thin hair, looking up at Gorman and Cedric.

Gorman swallowed, thickly, and knelt by the girls' other side, avoiding her spread-out hair as he did so, and placed his own fingers against her cool, pale neck. He waited, two, three, maybe ten seconds, and then looked up and shook his head. "She's gone."

"She bloody can't!" rasped Harry. "We didn't come down here just to drop Lockhart off—fat lot of good that did—and now that Riddle's gone, shouldn't she be fine?"

"Sometimes life doesn't work like that, Harry," muttered Gorman, apologetic. "We were too late… or too slow. Or, too… _something_. She's passed on."

"No!" Harry shook of Nate and Edgar. "What about CPR?"

"What?" gapped Theo, from his haunches on the flagstone.

Edgar nodded, "Yeah, CPR." He strode forward, and, biting his lip, he rearranged the girls' head and body, and then, hoping he was doing it correctly, pinched her nose and placed his mouth over hers, blowing air into her.

"Edgar…" Cedric trailed off, sadly, watching as the boy repeated the procedure and then covered his hands on the girls' chest and pushed—once, twice, thrice.

Nothing.

He repeated it, muttering under his breath, "one… two… three… four," and then exhaling into her, and then ten counts of pushing over her heart. Nothing changed; he repeated.

After several minutes—Harry would never be able to remember correctly how long it was—Harry felt the dampness and exhaustion wash over him. He moved away from Nate, and knelt beside Theo, next to Edgar, who had tears of frustration in his eyes. He watched his little brother roughly wipe them away with the back of his hand.

"Eddy," said Harry, softly, placing a hand on the boys' shoulder. "Eddy… you've done what you can. It's over."

"No! I can't just—her parents and family will want to know—how!" Edgar succumbed to tears, and curled up against his brother. "They shouldn't have to lose someone like we have," he said, so quietly Harry barely heard him.

Harry wrapped his arms around his brother and held him, murmuring under his breath as his friends gathered around the two Potter brothers. Harry rocked Edgar back and forth as the boy sobbed against Harry's dirty clothes. Tucked under his chin, Harry looked up at the ceiling, through his broken spectacles, and prayed to a God he hadn't really believed in.

*

The Aurors and several professors found them barely an hour later, dragging a lucid, if not amnesiac, Lockhart with them. Dumbledore was at the front of the group, his phoenix on his shoulder and his wand ready, with a hard, flinty look in his eyes.

When he spotted the group of six, surrounded by the fallen figure not more than a few hundred feet from the basilisk, he ignored the shouts of surprise from the Aurors and ran forward to the group.

His gaze ran over each student: Nate and Theo were grimy and had several cuts and bruises; Gorman was wandless and his hands were streaked with blood; Cedric was incredibly pale and shaky, covered in ink, blood and so much dirt and grime he looked as though he had a roll in the mud; and the Potters…

Edgar was still clutching his older brother, so Dumbledore couldn't see if he was hurt, but he appeared to be alright, if not shaky. Harry, on the other hand… the boy had a haunted gaze, as his eyes travelled from the still form of Ginny Weasley to Dumbledore's own wearied gaze. He had two bruises on his hair line, already purling; his spectacles were cracked and there were thin lines of dried blood from where the glass cut into the bridge of his nose and under his eyes; the back of his robes were ripped to the skin, where Dumbledore he spy a streak of pink, newly healed flesh, yet the area around it was caked in flaky, dried blood.

Dumbledore sighed. He hadn't wanted this for any of his students, and now…

"Come," he said, kindly, meeting all their eyes. "Let us get you to the hospital wing."

No one spoke as they were led out of the Chamber, towards the other professors and Aurors, who cast warming spells on them in a sympathetic silence. Harry didn't look back as a small group of Aurors remained behind. One conjured a small black cloth, and Harry turned his head away, blinking quickly.

The image would haunt him, though. He wouldn't forget—and as he glanced at those with him: Nate, Theo, Gorman, Cedric and Edgar… he realised neither would they.

*

There wasn't a leaving feast that year. None of the tapestries with the house emblems on them were displayed; there was no talk of who won the Quidditch Cup or the House Cup. The entire school was in mourning for Ginny Weasley.

Somehow, despite the government intervention, the press never caught wind of what happened at Hogwarts, but Harry knew there would be talk. He was exonerated as the upcoming dark lord, given that Hermione had been petrified and no one could think of a reason as to why he would do that to his own friend. Yet…

There was a subtle shift within Slytherin that no one would really notice unless they understood the power plays; and Harry knew that Edgar and his friends saw it, because the Ravenclaws were astute and clever enough to be observant.

There was a split between two fractions: one supported Harry and his friends, who remained seated near them on their end of the long table; and the other formed a clutch around Draco Malfoy and those he associated with—and those, Theo hissed at him at the leaving feast, "who're children of Death Eaters… people who believe in _him_."

Harry couldn't imagine wanting to join the dark lord—not after what he saw of the teenaged version of Voldemort—but refrained from saying anything. People, Harry knew, were allowed to believe in what they wanted… but he wouldn't stand for blatant bullying or slurs thrown at others. He would also keep an eye on Malfoy; Harry knew he had an unhealthy obsession with insulting the youngest Weasley (Harry cringed at the thought, swallowing thickly and avoiding the instinctual desire to cast his eyes at the Gryffindor table, where the four remaining Weasleys huddled together).

Harry and those who had been with him in the Chamber met with the Weasley family a few days after the Chamber of Secrets incident. Harry could barely look at them—at Mrs. Weasley, who had been so kind to him in Diagon Alley less than a year previous, who was now sobbing heartily into her husbands' shoulders; at Mr. Weasley, who remained stoic and unresponsive, lost in his grief; at the eldest two siblings, Bill and Charlie, who had been abroad and now back, taking charge of their family as their parents remained unresponsive to their help and suggestions.

Dumbledore and the head of the Auror division who had ushered the group out of the Chamber, Rufus Scrimgeour, were also present. They were gently repeating the events of the Chamber, and together they had deduced that Ginny had been slipped the diary deliberately.

Harry nearly gagged at that point in Dumbledore's office. _Deliberately_, he said. Someone hated the Weasleys enough to murder one of their own.

When Dumbledore presented the diary as evidence to Scrimgeour, handing over the case to the Aurors, Harry felt a tingle in the back of his mind—he _knew_ that book. But, from where?

He shoved it away as Dumbledore and Scrimgeour continued their gentle retelling of events, highlighting what the six had done there; they continued that Horatio Landen and Mike Summers had gone directly to the professor's lounge and the other to the Aurors, explaining about their friends and the Chamber, imploring them to help them, to save them. Dumbledore continued that the Chamber had closed back up when they reached the toilet, but several blasting curses from the Aurors had revealed the pipe after many agonising minutes.

There, they found Lockhart at the bottom, memory gone and yet barely any different than when he had his mind. They travelled further, as they could hear distant, echoes of shouts and fights—felt a giant thud (that _would've been the basilisk_, thought Harry, _when I stabbed it_)—and were prepared to do battle… only to find another locked door they had to blast through. And when they did… they were too late as well.

Harry was convinced the Weasleys hated him. Mrs. Weasley couldn't look at him; at the cuts and bruises left on his face (he refused Madam Pomfrey's insistence to heal them. He wanted a reminder that sometimes you couldn't save everyone. She argued back that the large scar on his back from the basilisk fang would be reminder enough, but then left it, seeing Harry's stubborn expression).

Bill and Charlie, though, thanked him quietly, shaking his hand and his friends'. They led their parents out of Dumbledore's office, but Molly Weasley's sob lingered in the silent room.

None of those with Harry, including Gorman and Cedric, felt like they deserved their thanks.

"Sometimes," began Scrimgeour, slowly, as he looked from one student to the next, "Despite doing all we can, we still lose."

The leonine man shook Dumbledore's hand and exited the office, leaving the six alone with the headmaster.

They were expecting the man to say something. Dumbledore opened his mouth, ready to either scold or impart some wisdom on them, to ease their guilt, but instead he kept his mouth shut. The twinkle in his eyes had faded, and the old wizard looked every bit his age. Instead, he waved the six from his office, an unreadable look on his face as he did so.

*

As King's Cross station approached, Edgar fingered the worn chess piece in his pocket. He and Harry were alone, briefly, in their compartment; Nate and Theo were changing into their regular robes, Hermione was with Neville Longbottom, and the Hufflepuffs were trying to repair their strained friendship.

"I feel as though I shouldn't say this," began Edgar, drawing Harry's attention.

"Hmm?"

"Ginny Weasley died, and none of us could do anything about it," the younger Potter continued.

"Life isn't fair, Eddy," replied Harry. "Did I ever tell you what Vicar Hornsby told me over the hols? He said that sometimes when good people try to do something good for another, something intervenes and stops them. Sometimes nothing can be done, and we have to live with it."

Edgar looked down, tracing the pattern of the seat in the compartment. "I don't like it."

"I don't suppose you ever will," replied Harry, almost idly.

"You're taking this well," said Edgar, glaring at his older brother. "Shouldn't you feel more for her death?"

Harry shrugged, looking away. Of course he felt guilty about Ginny Weasley's death; he felt more than he could ever describe to his little brother, and more than he would _want_ to tell him… but at the same time, he accepted that sometimes bad things happen to good people; had he and his friends never gone to the Chamber, Ginny Weasley would still be dead, and Riddle would be alive.

"Henry?"

"Yeah, Edgar?"

Edgar offered Harry something in his fist, and Harry took it; it was the black king.

"You almost died," said Edgar. "I don't want to ever see that happen again…" he took a deep breath, "but, just so you know… you did really well down there. You were a hero: the Boy-Who-Lived. And I… king's to you, Harry."

Harry swallowed thickly, looking at the worn chess piece in his palm. He clenched his fist closed, and bowed his head, remembering the voices when he thought he died. His role was not done, if he believed what the sorting hat said and—were they really his parents?

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," he muttered under his breath, watching through the window as the Hogwarts Express pulled into their platform at King's Cross, blowing steam and obscuring his view.

He glanced at Edgar, who caught his gaze, and nodded, solemnly. Destiny, duty… Harry was going to take charge now. He sighed; he didn't believe in providence, but there was something mysterious at work that was guiding him down a certain path; even Dumbledore believed it. Last year he told himself that he would meet his destiny head-on, take it by the reins and play the game on his terms.

_It is time_, thought Harry, as he looked down at his fist, the king hidden away, to become what everyone saw him as: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Only Harry knew, though, that he would see himself as a king—and not as a pawn to be played.

*

TBC…

*


	5. V: Learning

*

**The** **Dragon**: No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold. Like everyone, he must live and learn.

"_The Dragon's Call," Merlin_, 2009

*

_Chapter Five_

The mood at the Dursley household was rather sombre, given the recent scare that Edgar had over Harry's near-death, and Ginny Weasley's actual passing. The Dursleys had actually picked the two brothers up at King's Cross, even engaged in a rather bland conversation with the Grangers, and then drove back to Surrey without any complaint.

At first, Harry didn't question their behaviour until much later that evening, once the moon's light filtered in through the open window in the smallest bedroom at number four, with Edgar's soft snores the only noise.

_Dumbledore had written to them_.

It was the only explanation that Harry could come up with. Although the Dursleys never abused Edgar or Harry, they had wilfully neglected the two brothers and never hid their contempt and disgust at the Potters. Knowing about magic made everything much clearer for Harry; he now understood why Petunia hated looking at him—at his mother's eyes—and why Edgar was such an eyesore when he looked identical to James Potter. They were reminders.

And on the subject of reminders, Harry mused that Dumbledore must have sent Petunia and Vernon a reminder as to why they took the two Potters in, with an explanation of what occurred at the end of the school year. None of the Dursleys would be stupid enough to antagonise the Potters when they had witnessed death and came so close to it. While they were not a close family, family was still family and the Dursleys did, in a roundabout way, look after the Potter brothers.

It was clever, actually, when Harry looked at all angles. By promising to take in Harry and Edgar, Petunia ensured her family's safety from wizards and witches in return for Dumbledore to leave them alone—the Dursley's greatest wish was to stamp out the magic in the Potters but when they did not happen, they turned their attention to their most basic needs.

However, being Catholic, Petunia could not find it in her to just abandon the boys or let them fall into neglect; they always had clothes, they were always fed. Maybe not the latest fashions and in Dudley's oversized cast-offs, and maybe they were meagre meals, but it was still food and clothing. A roof over their heads.

_Clever_, thought Harry, _and it could so easily have gone sour on Dumbledore_. He realised now the thin edge that Dumbledore was riding; on one hand, the treatment at the Dursleys bred a stronger Harry, capable of enduring hits with a moral compass that skewed itself whenever necessary to get the job done—but, had Dumbledore completely misjudged the Dursleys…

Harry shivered and drew the duvet tighter around him. Even now, he knew that he could easily fall into darkness.

As Harry ambled into the kitchen at number four, Privet Drive, he fought back another shudder.

_Annnnnnd… he might still fall into that darkness_, he thought sourly, as Vernon casually mentioned Marge Dursley visiting for a week.

"When's she coming?" he asked, as he moved over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk.

Vernon eyed him, hesitating and probably wondering if it would help him by either stalling or withholding the information. Knowing Harry's character, though, he decided to answer. "In a few days. I'll be picking her up at the station on Saturday."

Harry hummed his agreement, eyeing Dudley as he shoved forkfuls of his second helping into his mouth. His eyes were fixated on the portable television in the corner of the dining room, just over Vernon's shoulder.

The boy was larger than he had been when Harry last saw him in December, and, after a glance between Vernon and Dudley, Harry wondered how much larger Dudley was going to get before he exceeded his father's weight and size.

"She'll be staying in the guest room," continued Vernon, ignoring the look of distaste that flashed briefly across Harry's face; Vernon was very good at ignoring things he didn't want to see, and Harry had exploited that in the past. "She'll be bringing her latest… erm… pet with her, boy, and you'll be expected to treat her and the dog well during their stay here."

Harry frowned, but said, "Deal—as long as she doesn't do anything more than her normal, that is." Then, a thought came to him and he drew up his inner Slytherin to the forefront of his personality.

_It was_, thought Harry, _almost ironic that the power games that the Slytherins played in the common room would come in handy in dealing with Vernon Dursley._

"By the way," continued Harry, almost nonchalantly, as he moved to set his and Edgar's places at the table, "My school allows for day trips into the nearby town on certain days but I need permission from my guardians."

Vernon sputtered. "I beg your pardon!"

Harry cut a glance at Vernon and set his plate deliberately down on the table with a conscious thought. "I believe you heard me. Hogsmeade, permission form, guardian signature."

Vernon's own eyes narrowed. "If there's no funny business the entire time Marge is here."

"I'll play nice if she does," replied Harry, only mildly injecting some venom into the statement.

He and Vernon eyed each other the dining table—Petunia had a fork with some egg on it hovering between the plate and her mouth as she held her breath, warily watching the two strongest men in the room war. She was under no illusions that her nephew could easily overcome her or her family with his magic stick—she just didn't want to see that happen.

Vernon scowled but didn't say anything else; Edgar ambled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing at his forehead absently, his brown eyes taking in the familiar scene, pausing on Vernon and Harry's stare-off.

"Alright, Harry?" the littlest Potter asked, frowning.

Immediately, Harry and Vernon broke their stare. Harry turned to his brother and smiled widely, cheerfully saying, "Morning, Eddy. Did you sleep well?" and moving towards the gas stove, preparing their eggs and breakfast sausages.

Edgar looked suspiciously at Vernon, Petunia who didn't meet his gaze, and then at his cousin who remained oblivious to whatever occurred between Harry and Vernon. "Fine," he finally replied to his brother as a plate of scrambled eggs, two sausages and a slice of toast with jam slid in front of him at the table.

The five sat at the table, studiously ignoring one another, with the Potters at one end, and the Dursleys at the other. Dudley was watching a programme with lots of explosions and gunfire, while Vernon hummed and hawed and did his best to ignore his two, messy-haired, skinny nephews.

"What's the name of the new dog of Marge's, Pet?" asked Vernon loudly.

Petunia, bewildered, replied, "R-Ripper, Vernon." Boldly, she continued, "Marge last said he won a prestigious award of some sort for his breeding."

Harry rolled his eyes at Edgar, who covered a snicker by taking a larger-than-normal bite of his eggs.

The two made conversation, ignoring the Potters. While they were talking about Marge, her dogs, Wiltshire, her train arrival, and then the weather, the Labour Party, and then hoodlums, Edgar turned to Harry and fished a folded piece of parchment from his pocket.

"Hermione just sent it with Iris," he said, handing it over to Harry. "It's addressed to both of us, but I thought you might want to see it."

Harry frowned around his eggs, and washed them down with his orange juice before taking the parchment and unfolding it—and then stared.

_Boy-Who-Lived and friends uncover famed Chamber of Secrets—youngest Weasley girl dies in encounter_, screamed the bold headline.

Hermione had sent a clipping from _the Daily Prophet_ about the Chamber of Secrets. The Auror Department publicly revealed their version of the story only a few days ago with quotes from the Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, another high-ranking Auror by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and two Healers from St. Mungo.

Harry swallowed thickly, the lingering taste of eggs suddenly tasting of ash. However, he forced himself to continue reading.

_Rufus Scrimgeour, Departmental Head of the Auror Division, revealed in a statement made yesterday that the monster that was plaguing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been appropriated and destroyed. The monster was that of a thousand-year-old basilisk, probably spawned by Salazar Slytherin himself back when he was still at Hogwarts as one of the four founders. _

"_Our Department has dealt with the threat and now the threat is passed, with only one unforeseen, and unfortunate, casualty," stated Scrimgeour._

_However, there were rumours about several students having been present at the time when the Aurors recovered the youngest Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, from which she had been a prisoner—rumours which indicate that it was the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, himself. _

"_Those rumours are baseless and lack any concrete fact behind them," reputed Chief Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Mr. Potter was, at the time when the Aurors recovered Ms. Weasley, surrounded by his friends—unless you wish to assume that they too were with him in the Chamber of Secrets?"_

_Official story is that Gilderoy Lockhart decided to take on the monster in the Chamber of Secrets personally, having already slain many other monsters (all of which he detailed extensively in his extremely popular novels). Unfortunately, upon finding the entrance to the Chamber (which the Auror Department failed to reveal), Lockhart suffered some injuries and a spell backfire, which has landed him in St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward, for long-term patients._

"_It's unlikely he'll ever recover his memory fully," stated Magdalene Webber, "Actually, it's unlikely he'll ever recover anything other than anything new he's learnt from when the Aurors found him."_

_Two Hufflepuff students reported Lockhart's odd behaviour and reported it to several Aurors stationed at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, who then tracked the Defence professor to the entrance of the Chamber, where they found Ms. Ginevra Weasley, 12, dead._

"_No parent should ever have to bury their child," said a shocked, and clearly grieving Scrimgeour. "The Weasleys are good people, and they didn't deserve to plan their only daughter's funeral—nor did Ms. Weasley deserve to die."_

_The Weasley family, pictured right, from 1992 during their family vacation to Egypt, has declined any statements. _

Harry let out a breath he was holding, and, without a word, snatched up his plate and glass from the table, left them in the kitchen sink, and was out of the back garden door and over the back fence—and gone from number 4 Privet Drive.

*

When Harry returned, much later that evening, he was sporting a blossoming bruise alongside his right eye and chin, and his knuckles were scraped raw.

"Where've you been?" demanded Edgar, turning in the desk chair to face his older brother. "Of course Petunia and Vernon didn't care but I did! You just took off without a word!"

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, ignoring Edgar's scathing glare. He reached and yanked his shirt over his head and negligently tossed it at their wardrobe, wincing as he stretched and pulled at the scabs of his healing wounds from the Chamber of Secrets.

Edgar silently watched his brother, taking in the skinny profile, but now unable to count the ribs and see his spine as clearly as he used to—instead, Edgar focused on the fresh, pink scar from the basilisk fang that slashed across his brothers' back, and the odd purple/green bruises that were fading from the Chamber.

"You'll tear your cuts open if you overdo things," he finally said, softly, watching Harry as he reached for a button-up flannel top.

Harry paused, mid-button, and glanced at his brother over his shoulder. He then resumed buttoning.

"Aren't you going to say something?" demanded Edgar.

"What do you want me to say, Eddy?" burst out Harry suddenly, turning around and away from the wardrobe to face his brother. His eyes were blazing, almost lit from within as he began to snarl his frustrations out at his younger brother. "Do you want me to tell you that every night I go to bed dreading my dreams where I see not just the Weasley girl, but _you_, Theo, Nate, Cedric, Hermione—everyone I care about being mauled by the basilisk? Frothing at the mouth from its poison? _Dying_? Do you want me to tell you how I feel guilty for not getting to the Chamber earlier? That I happily let Cedric and his mates go on and on about what our next move should be? Do you want me to tell you that I'm _glad_ that the Weasley girl is dead because it means that you and my friends are _alive_? What do you want me to say, Edgar? Really—tell me, because I'm all ears."

Edgar hadn't seen Harry lose his temper like that in ages—since before Hogwarts, at any rate—and snapped his mouth shut, feeling contrite and at the same time, belligerent.

"You think I don't feel that, too?" snapped Edgar, jumping from the chair to his feet, clenching his fists. "She was _my age_, Henry! I wanted to go to her directly and help her but you and the others decided it would be best to _think things over_." Edgar laced the final three words with as much scorn as he could manage.

Harry's lips thinned, and he took a step forward, threateningly, but then realised that this was his _baby brother_, and visibly reigned his temper in as much as he could. "Clearly you don't understand about cause and effect, or the consequences of any actions that are taken, Edgar," said Harry, coolly. "As for where I was, I went to talk with Vicar Hornsby, and then vented my frustrations out of Dudley's friends Piers and Malcolm, who were bothering the kid for number 12, Mark Evans. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Edgar swallowed, thickly, and gave a short, sharp, nod.

"Good," replied Harry flatly, grabbing his flannel bottoms from the wardrobe and stalking out of the room. Edgar heard the water run in the upstairs bathroom, and then after a few minutes Harry returned in his pyjamas. Without looking at his little brother, Harry climbed into the bottom bunk, rolled over so his back was to Edgar, and pulled the covers up.

Neither Potter said goodnight to the other.

*

A few days later, Hermione sent another _Daily Prophet_ clipping—although this time, she directed it to Harry specifically.

Harry didn't get a chance until later that evening to read it, as dinner was postponed until after Vernon called the local constabulary for more information on the recent escape of a high-security prisoner, Black.

Hermione's letter consisted of a single piece of regular lined-paper—something of a rarity, given that he lived mostly in the magical world—with a quick note about Sirius Black being a wizard who escaped from Azkaban prison. A clipping of the _Prophet_ suggested that people stay indoors because Black was 'armed and dangerous,' and the rest of the article was fanciful gibberish about his supposed crimes, including blowing a street of twelve Muggles up and Peter Pettigrew, and being Voldemort's (or rather, "You-Know-Who.") right-hand man.

Harry frowned. He studied quite a bit and never heard of a single spell that could blow a street apart and kill thirteen people in one go—unless it was a _bombardia_ or _reducto_ that was aimed at the pavement… and that never guaranteed anything, either.

Curious, Harry ran a finger along the news clipping and then around the letter Hermione sent, absently staring through the bedroom window at the looming twilight. What was the point of Hermione sending the clipping? Was it a warning? A hint to research?

Frowning, Harry shook his head lightly, and glanced at the road as he saw Vernon's sleek, grey Mercedes-Benz purred down the street and into the Dursley's driveway.

_Oh, joy;_ thought Harry, _here comes Marge._

She entered Number 4, Privet Drive loudly, the suitcase thumping loudly as it smacked the wood floor in the foyer; she was calling for her 'Diddikins,' and asking Petunia for a brandy already.

"Where's that Potter boy? The _eldest_, Petunia!" Harry heard her snarl. Harry left the bedroom and peaked down the stairs to the foyer, watching the large group stand around.

Edgar, who had been off sulking in the kitchen, drew Marge's attention as he tried to sneak upstairs to his room. "Never mind, have the younger one take my suitcase to my room."

Harry watched as Edgar shot a nasty look at Marge but complied; he remembered vividly Harry disobeying Marge once as a child, years before Hogwarts, and her siccing Ripper on Harry until he climbed up a tree to escape the violent pit-bull.

As Edgar trudged past Harry, the two shared a glance. Message received: once again, they would put aside their own problems and grievances in order to unite against the common enemy: Marge Dursley.

For the most part, Marge _did_ behave; Vernon and Petunia went out of their way to ensure that the Potter brothers spent the majority of their free time outside of the house and Petunia took over any chores that needed to be completed, as well as most meals. Dudley, too, spent his time away from Privet Drive, although he was mostly with his gang of friends and terrorising the neighbourhood and vandalising store properties.

Without anyone to focus her anger and scathing remarks on, her weeklong stay was almost… pleasurable. Almost, of course, being the key word, as Petunia required the entire family to be present on her final Saturday evening in Little Whinging.

Edgar and Harry worked with Petunia in the kitchen creating a feast: a large pot roast, side potatoes and mixed vegetables; pudding for dessert as well as freshly, homemade tarts with whipping cream. Moreover, Vernon broke out the fine sherry that he was saving for "special occasions."

Harry shared a worried glance with Eddy, who returned it from the opposite end of the kitchen counter. The last time Marge had too much alcohol, her mouth began sprouting off all kinds of insults; some of which even began to slide in Petunia's direction that left a very bitter taste in the Dursley household's mouths.

Harry, Edgar and Petunia shared this worry, as the two Potter boys spotted her pinched lips and the tightening of the crow's feet around her eyes as they gathered up the roast and dishes and brought them to the dining table.

Dudley, already seated, somehow looking sharp in his father's old fitted jacket and pressed trousers; Vernon, too, had dressed up for the occasion and was wearing a new bowtie. Petunia had on the Evans family pearls, and had hissed at Harry and Edgar to 'smarten up,' so both were in their school trousers, jumpers and Oxfords—but Harry had given Edgar his old green Slytherin jumper that he recently outgrew, so he was just in shirtsleeves.

Marge immediately went in the sherry, and even poured some from the decanter into a teacup saucer for Ripper to lap up. The dinner remained tense and strained, but Vernon and Petunia did a very good job in keeping Marge's attention on blasé topics and away from the teenagers.

"Ah, just a bit more, Petunia, there's a ducky," said a very boisterous Marge much later, once the food was consumed.

Petunia complied, glancing at Vernon who gave a very tiny nod. The sherry decanter was nearly empty, and Marge consumed most, as Vernon was driving her back to the station later that evening.

Certain they had spent enough time in Marge's presence, Harry looked at Vernon and as per an earlier deal they had made, politely asked, "May Edgar and I be excused?"

Vernon, grateful, readily agreed and the two Potters rose to their feet and began gathering their dishes.

"What?" barked Marge, her glassy eyes settling on them. "No thanks to your aunt for slaving over this meal? A meal you ate?"

Harry looked at Petunia from under his fringe, his spectacles sliding down his nose as he did so. Petunia's pinched look deepened.

"Really, Marge," she said, her hands fluttering around her neck in nervously, "the boys did help… there's no need to keep them here at the table any longer…"

"Tosh!" snapped Marge. "They should learn manners and reply to their betters when someone asks them a question!"

Edgar stilled at Harry's side, and Harry's eyebrows shot upward as he looked from Petunia to Vernon, in what was a very clear message: _Do you seriously expect me to reply to that or will you handle her before I lose my temper?_

Vernon, already nervous and sure of the outcome, blustered into the conversation. "Marge, really—the boys did their work and we don't need them here at the table any longer."

Marge's extra jowls around her neck wobbled a bit as she made a noise in her throat. "Vernon! How could you expect those two layabouts to run amuck? Take advantage of your hospitality?" She turned her eyes on the Potters again, and it suddenly struck Harry at how much she _didn't_ look like her brother, Vernon, except for their massive size in general.

Marge's thinning hair was a dull ash colour, and her face already lined from her work with her dogs, set into a permanent frown. Marge was nasty for the sake of being nasty—and took delight in taking it out on Harry and Edgar. He certainly recognised that look: she was gearing up for a big one.

"If it were up to me, _boy_, I would've chucked you and your brat of a brother into an orphanage the first chance I got!"

Harry let a cool mask settle over his features. "You are, of course, entitled to your own opinions."

She _humphed_ at him, and watched as Edgar and Harry moved into the nearby kitchen, where one counter separated the eating and kitchen area; they could still easily see and hear her. "Where did you say they go to school, Vernon?"

Harry glanced at his uncle. _This ought to be good,_ he thought. Edgar stumbled a bit when he scraped his plate clean of food sticking to it, his grip slipping from the plate only an inch or so in surprise.

Harry kept his eyes on his uncle, who was flushing under the attention.

"Erm, well, that is…" stuttered Vernon.

"Well?" asked Marge, losing patience.

"They attend the same school as their parents," he finally blurted; Petunia beside him paled.

"Oh?" asked Marge, gaining some interest. "And what's the name of the school?"

"It's a small institute that I doubt you've heard about," interrupted Harry, eager to draw the attention away from Hogwarts.

Marge narrowed her eyes at him. "And where do you and your brother get the money to attend such as school, boy? Certainly not from my brother!"

"It's charity," replied Harry coolly. "The Headmaster was friends with my parents and has taken us on at the school as an act of charity."

Marge clearly had nothing to say about the matter, and the conversation became slightly stilted as Harry and Edgar finished washing up—and then Marge had another sherry and the evening went to hell.

"What did Potter do for a living, Vernon? You never said."

Vernon and Petunia both stopped talking, immediately. Petunia was incredibly pale, and Vernon was flushed in the cheeks. Even Dudley, who normally avoided all conversations revolving his two cousins, looked up from the television and stared at his parents in fascination.

"I—I, didn't say," responded Vernon, carefully.

"Unemployed layabout?" replied Marge, sympathetically. "Completely understandable when you look at those two whelps. And their mother?"

"Lily… she didn't work," whispered Petunia.

Marge nodded in understanding. "Now, no offence to you, Petunia, because you're a good sort, but I've always said it, and I'll say it again: if there's something wrong with the bitch, then there's something wrong with the pups…"

The sherry in Marge's hand shattered and drenched her hand and wrist in the liquid, and coated the top of the linen on the table. Petunia shrieked and Vernon blubbered, looking up at the Potters in the kitchen. Dudley was staring open-mouthed at his aunt.

Harry's head whipped around to look at Edgar, who was pasty-white except for twin splashes of red along his cheeks that stretched upwards to his ears. His brown eyes were narrowed into thin lines, and his mouth was stretched into a scowl.

"Edgar," hissed Harry, in warning.

"Take that back," the younger Potter muttered—but it was loud enough that everyone heard it.

"He's delusional! Been awake too long!" Vernon shouted jovially. "To bed, Potter! Go, go!"

"No Vernon, let the boy speak. Proud of your mother, were you, boy?" Marge glared at Edgar, and Harry felt his own ire rise at the way she was looking at him. "Are you proud to be the son of a whore and her drunken layabout of a husband?"

"He was not, and my mother was no whore," snarled Edgar, his soapy hands fisting at his sides. Harry tensed, and looked around the room warily—he was sure something else would explode soon if Edgar didn't gain control over his emotions.

"But proud of your parents who died in a car crash and left you on your good aunt's doorstep, are you?" prompted Marge, nastily.

"_They didn't die in a car crash_!"

Harry swore as a crystal vase in the centre of the table imploded, covering the table and Marge in tiny shards of crystal and glass, but Marge didn't notice; she focused on Edgar.

Vernon shouted something; Dudley was under the table, whimpering in fear; and Petunia was shrieking at Harry to do something, but Marge continued speaking. "Let me tell you something, boy—"

She was going to say more when her voice suddenly disappeared, leaving her completely silenced. Startled, Marge's eyes bulged and her hands flew up to her throat, where she ineffectively touched at her enormous neck and jowls.

Harry held his breath and glanced at Edgar, who was panting heavily.

"Let's see you talk now, bitch," he muttered under his breath, "when I've just _silencio_'d you."

The youngest Potter then stormed past Harry, through the front foyer and out of the house, slamming the front door behind him, and leaving the dining room in a stunned silence.

Harry stifled a sigh and caught his aunt's furious eye. "I'll go after him," he volunteered, vaguely aware of Petunia's nod. He glanced back at Marge, who was clutching her throat in confusion and fear. "And I'm sure her voice will return soon, too—she's probably just lost it from talking so much."

Harry then took off after Edgar, whom he was sure was heading to the park that Dudley favoured to terrorise. It was very dark already, and only some streetlamps were working, flickering on and off in the balmy summer weather, but there was enough light for Harry to walk the familiar path to the park.

Just as he thought, Edgar was swinging gently back and forth on a park swing, kicking up sand occasionally as he did so. Harry settled into the vacant swing next to him, wrapping his hands around the chains. Unsure of how to start and still swirling with his own emotions over Marge's insults and Edgar's own magical attack, Harry drew himself together as tightly as he could and settled on a single thought.

After a moment, he spoke.

"Well done, Edgar, you'll have the Improper Use of Magic office down on us in a matter of hours," said Harry scathingly, trying to ignore the fluttering of panic in his chest at the thought of being expelled from Hogwarts. "You just couldn't hold your temper, could you?"

"Did you hear what she said about mum and dad!" demanded Edgar, angrily. His face still flushed in his anger.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course I did; I was right there, wasn't I?"

"Then how can you be so calm about it!"

"I live with a bunch of junior psychopathic bullies, Edgar, I have to remain calm whenever I'm around them," replied Harry evenly. "Otherwise I would've already been ripped apart in the Den."

"Doesn't make it right," the youngest Potter muttered.

"'Course not," agreed Harry, "but you still shouldn't have lost your temper."

"The _things_ she was saying!" fumed Edgar. "Who does she think she is, to know our parents? Mum was _not_ a whore, and dad was certainly _not_ a drunken layabout! They fought Voldemort! They _died_ fighting him, not in a bloody car crash!"

"And yet do we know what they really did for a living?" questioned Harry, lightly. "No one has told us anything about our parents, Eddy. We can't assume that just because we fail to ask questions that the answers are going to be something we want to hear."

"I know," the soon to be twelve-year-old grumbled.

"Good," replied Harry. They let the conversation fall into silence for a bit longer, swinging back and forth and listening to the creak of the chains. A whisper of a breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees and bushes.

"D'you think they're proud of us?" asked Edgar, finally, very softly.

"Yeah," said Harry, just as softly but very confidently. "I think they are _very_ proud of us."

The two shared a grin—an eerily similar grin that was slightly lop-sided and dimpled in one cheek—and basked in the familiar glow of brotherly love for the moment. The moment was lost, however, when a twig snapped and broke through the night like a gunshot. Harry was up and off the swing in one easy movement, standing in front of Edgar and looking around the park and towards the bushes and trees to one side.

"Harry?" asked Edgar, quietly, as he too rose to his feet.

Harry's eyes continued to scan the dark playground, trying to ignore the odd shadows that the teeter-totter and jungle gym made in the flickering streetlamps. He strained his ears and listened as a gentle breeze rustled the bushes and the leaves from the trees, masking any other sounds.

Unbidden, a memory popped into his head, one of Dumbledore's speaking: "_Alas! It was not your father, but his friend, Sirius Black, who wanted you to have a more 'common' name, I believe he said. He and his brother, Regulus, had such strong, regal names amongst the Pureblood circle and I am sure that he did not want you exposed to that. Hence, Harry and Eddy instead of Henry and Edgar._"

Harry stiffened. Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, was a wizard, Death Eater, and was at one point in his life, James Potter's _best friend_… he had more than enough reasons to go after the Boy-Who-Lived and his little brother. Suddenly the bushes and shadows around Little Whinging's park seemed so much more ominous and threatening than they were just a few minutes ago.

"Edgar, start walking back to Privet Drive," instructed Harry, not taking his eyes off the greenery off to one side. Had something moved back there? "Don't turn your back until after you're around the corner on Hawthorne Court. Then run. Run back to the house."

"Henry?" queried Edgar, sounding small. "Is everything alright?"

"_**Do it**_."

Harry almost _felt_ Edgar's hesitance, but as Harry watched one of the shadows around the bush to their left begin to elongate, move and stretch, he was sure that he and Edgar were being watched by something—and he wasn't willing to risk his brothers' life on it if he was wrong.

"_Now_, Edgar," snapped Harry, taking his eyes off the bush in anger to turning to face his baby brother. As he did so, something growled and out of the bushes leapt a massive black _thing_. Edgar wordlessly cried out, but obeyed his brother and took off down the park, over the sand and then onto the empty street as he raced around the corner and disappeared from Harry's sight.

Harry, on the other hand, stumbled back as the massive beast leapt out, and was cursing himself as he sat in the sand at the park with a looming _thing_ nearing him. As it passed under one of the flickering lights, Harry saw it was instead a massive dog—some sort of boarhound or wolf mix—and it was staring at him in a very odd light… an intelligent light.

"Oh, bollocks," muttered Harry. "You're an animagus."

The dog paused; surprised, and then bared its teeth in warning, confirming Harry's mutter that the dog was more human than beast. Harry, however, was having none of that. The dog was an animagus, a human shape shifter, and Harry knew immediately who it was: Sirius Black. But he wasn't going to sit around and make things easy for the man.

As the dog neared, Harry dug his hand into the sand of the park, and then fisted it. He was waiting, in baited breath, for the opportune moment—and when the dog was almost upon him, Harry swung his arm out and the sand that he had gathered in his hand flew directly into the wizards' eyes.

The dog howled and Harry scrambled to his feet, slipping a few times as he gathered his energy and began running as fast as he could down the street and around the corner—in the opposite direction of Edgar.

He heard the dog panting as Black followed him in his animal form, its soft paws padding against the concrete and allowing him to catch up despite the lead Harry had. Instead, Harry willed his brain to stop panicking and remember that he knew the area better than anyone else did; this was _his_ turf.

Harry skidded around a corner of shops, passing the main street boutiques and restaurants, never pausing to look at his shadowy reflection in the shiny glass windows. As he neared the end of the street, he caught and swung himself around a lamppost and then pounded down a side alley between the grocer's and a hair salon.

Black was still behind him.

Harry took another turn between a training gym and local convenience store, and then another almost immediately by the town community centre and jumped over a fallen rubbish bin—but the dog didn't stop pursuing him. Finally, Harry chanced a glance backwards and saw that the dog was following and matching him step for step.

Unfortunately, having glanced back, Harry's feet took a wrong turn and he ended up in the dead-end alley behind the pub, where only two dumpsters and litter gathered. The smell was horrible, and Harry gagged just breathing it in.

He was tired and horribly out of breath, but decided he would face Sirius Black standing. He wouldn't go down without a physical fight, though, and readied himself to launch at the dog.

However, the black mass around it shifted and changed shape—too fast for Harry to really tell—and then standing in the same place as the dog was a haunted, raggedly-looking man with sunken eyes.

"Hello Harry Potter," he rasped, and Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Hello Sirius Black," replied Harry, tightly, mentally calculating what to do next.

Black was watching him, carefully, assessing. It seemed that he, too, was unsure what to do. Finally, he said, "I suppose you want to kill me."

Harry frowned. _That_ was an unusual opening line, shouldn't Harry be saying that instead, as the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who opposed his master?

"I beg your pardon?"

"You must want to kill me," repeated Black. "Surely you've been told about how I betrayed your parents?"

"Eh?" asked Harry, rather inelegantly.

Black blinked, in surprise, and then blurted, sounding completely horrified and astonished, "Has no one told you _anything_?"

"Apparently not," said a flabbergasted and sour Harry, although he did his best to hide it. "Why don't we start with you betraying my parents, shall we?" Harry let his wand slide down from the cuff of his Oxford, now dirty from his fall in the sand, to his hand, where it rested comfortably.

Black warily stepped back, eyeing the wand. "Will you let me explain first? I promise I won't hurt you, Harry. I could _never_ hurt you or Eddy."

Harry narrowed his eyes, contemplating the man in front of him. He was standing warily, non-threateningly, and had both his hands in front of him where Harry could see. He also shifted so his back was up against the pub's wall, so that Harry would have clear access past him if he decided to take off running.

"I'm listening," answered Harry, and the surprising thing was, he really _was_ listening to Sirius Black—and it was enlightening.

*

Number Four, Privet Drive was completely dark when Harry finally arrived. The entire street was silent and sleeping, as it was nearing one in the morning, and Harry and a few night scavengers were the only ones awake.

Harry fished the spare key out from underneath the welcome mat and quietly entered the house, eager to not wake anyone up. He knew the house like the back of his hand and knew all the creaking steps, so he was able to avoid bumping into anything in the inky darkness as he slowly walked up the stairs to his room.

As soon he reached to turn the knob, it flew open from the other side and Edgar greeted his brother, backlit by the single lamp on the desk in the far corner.

"Where've you been?" hissed Edgar, similar to a week previous when they had their argument.

Harry, weary and emotionally drained, mumbled something and gently pushed his way past his brother, tugging at the buttons at his shirt's cuff as he did so.

"_Is everything alright, Henry_?" asked Caesar, from Harry's bunk.

"_Yeah, it's fine_," he replied in Parseltongue, sighing as he finished the sentence.

Edgar dodged his every step, staring at his brother. Finally, after Harry shrugged off the dirty clothes and chucked them into their laundry bin in the wardrobe, the littlest Potter whispered, "Was it him? Was it Black?"

Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes, tilting his head upwards and wondered what he was going to tell Edgar. He thought back to his meeting with Sirius Black—_his godfather!_—and everything he leant in the two hours they spent talking.

_The first thing Black did was sigh._

"I _was_ your parents' secret keeper," he began, cautiously aware of Harry's wand. "But only up until the twentieth of October. I suggested they switch—and no one knew. I thought Remus was the traitor, but it was really Peter. I thought, _oh, who would suspect little Peter? He's not talented in magic, he's small, easily overlooked_… and well, I suppose it was ironic, really. I overlooked him, and never realised he'd been swayed to the Death Eaters."

Harry gave an affirmative snort, recognising the self-depreciating humour Black was injecting into the conversation.

The Azkaban escapee continued, staring at the wall opposite in the alley as he recounted the events. "When I arrived at Peter's that night, and he wasn't at his flat, I thought they figured out we switched keepers and took him to be tortured. But nothing was out of place; everything was left the way Peter liked his things. That's when I knew something had happened.

"I raced immediately over to Godric's Hallow, to your home, and when I saw it," here, Black swallowed thickly and his voice wobbled, "Merlin! There was smoke coming out of the upper windows and the front door blown off its hinges. I raced right in, not sure if Voldemort would be there or not, and saw James first. He was lying on the floor in the kitchen, dead. That's when I went to the nursery—and there Lily was, dead and Eddy crying at the top of his lungs."

"And me?"

"You were just sitting there, in your crib next to Eddy, silent and staring at me when I came in," revealed Black. "You were bleeding from the forehead, from a cut and the whole place reeked of Dark Magic. I picked up you, cuddled you, and tried to comfort Eddy but he wasn't having any of it. So I sent a patronus to Remus to come and help me."

"You can send messages through a patronus?" asked Harry, struck on that one thought, oddly.

Black grinned, showing off yellowed teeth. "Of course. Safest way of communication! A patronus will know if the recipient is under the Imperious or polyjuiced or not."

Harry nodded to show his understanding, and then Black continued.

"I knew I wasn't thinking straight, Harry, and I'm sorry," he apologised, turning his head away in remorse. "I gathered you and Eddy in my arms and was heading back to my motorcycle when Hagrid appeared and told me that he was taking the two of you to Petunia's, on Dumbledore's orders. I only half-heartedly fought against him—I wanted revenge. Peter had killed my best friend, my brother, orphaned his two young sons… an attack against a Marauder is an attack on us all."

The escapee shook his head. "I handed you and Eddy over. Then I told Hagrid to take my bike, use it to get you to safety, and then I apparated out. I had to track Peter down—and when I did, three days later, _he_ cornered me by shouting to the street I'd betrayed Lily and James… and then blasted the street in front of him and transformed into a rat and sped down the sewer in his animagus form."

"And you stood there laughing," finished Harry, recalling the article Hermione sent.

"If I wasn't laughing, I would've been crying," admitted Black, morosely. "The pain was… excruciating. A part of me had been ripped away in James's death; and to have justice also ripped away… and then what was left of my family be sent away to someone else when I was supposed to take care of you and Eddy…"

"What do you mean, take care of me and Eddy?" demanded Harry, drawing Black back out of his funk.

Black looked up in surprise. "Didn't anyone tell you?" at Harry's furious look, he sighed. "I suppose they didn't… I'm your godfather."

Harry staggered back against the dumpster in shock. His heart was beating furiously in his chest and dots appeared over his eyes. _Family! He and Eddy had _family.

"Harry?"

The voice was closer than before and Harry looked up in shock as Sirius Black edged closer to the young Slytherin, warily, as if he was a frightened animal that was ready to dart away at a sudden movement.

Harry let a shutter come over his face, struggling to hide his emotions over the revelations Black had dropped on him. The man watched wordlessly as Harry managed to recover—not enough to hide everything he was feeling, but enough—and then tilted his head to the side, in a very dog-like manner.

"You look very much like James," he finally whispered. "But you have Lily's eyes. And you have her personality," he barked out a laugh. "She was always able to hide herself away when it suited her. The Slytherins called her the Ice Queen behind her back, and a few to her face. They learned to never do that again quickly."

Harry gave a tiny smirk, inwardly very eager to hear more about his parents. Instead, he sighed and shrewdly asked, "How I can trust that everything you've said here is the truth, Black?"

Black sighed as well, sagging against the wall near the back door of the pub. His voice was heavy in self-hate as he murmured, "You can't."

Harry silently regarded the Azkaban prisoner in front of him. So far, despite Harry having a wand, the man had not made any threatening moves against him, despite that single growl and leap back at the park. Would Harry take a risk…?

"Magical oath," said Harry, confidently.

Black looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Magical oath," repeated Harry.

Black stared. "Yeah, that's what I _thought_ I heard. I'd need a wand for that, Harry, and mine was snapped in Azkaban ages ago."

Harry didn't pause as he flipped his wand so that he was holding the tip and offering the grip to Sirius. He shook his hand a bit to entice the man. \Black stared at the offered wand, with a gobsmacked looked on his face. "Take it. Use it and make the oath. Swear that everything you've just told me is the truth. That you're not a Death Eater, never will be a Death Eater. That you've never supported Voldemort."

Black swallowed heavily, and slowly reached out to take the wand, his grey-coloured eyes locked on Harry's the entire time. He gripped the handle, cautiously, and then, keeping the wand pointed at the ground and away from Harry deliberately, Black said, "I swear on my _life_ that I have never been a Death Eater, never will be a Death Eater, have never supported Voldemort in my life and that everything I've told Henry James Potter this evening is the entire truth."

A blinding flash of light lit up the grimy alleyway, overpowering the nearby streetlamp and setting a nearby car's alarm off.

Harry and Sirius exchanged grins.

Cautiously, Sirius stepped forward and handed Harry back his wand; he skipped away but Harry ignored the man and reached forward and gave him a tight hug.

Baffled, but overcome with emotion, Sirius returned the hug and held on tight to one of two last remaining links to James Potter.

"I'm glad that we've family," muttered Harry into Sirius's chest. "_Real_ family."

Sirius pulled back and held Harry at arm's length. "Me too. Now, let's look at you! I have so much to learn about you and Eddy… what house you're in, if you plan pranks, who your friends are…" He sighed.

"Then ask," offered Harry.

"Well, you're probably a Gryffindor, especially the way you stood up to me earlier," grinned Sirius.

"No," replied Harry, shaking his head. He eyed him. "I don't think you'll be too happy with my house association."

Sirius sighed, and a small smile appeared on his lips. "Slytherin, is it?"

Harry nodded.

Sirius looked away for a moment, as if considering something, and then came to a resolution as he turned back to Harry. "What do you know of my family?"

Here, Harry paused before deliberately answering, "Enough. The other Slytherins talk about their relations and the Blacks have been mentioned a time or two."

Sirius gave Harry a bitter smile. "Are you happy there, at least?"

Harry grinned widely. "Yeah. I've many good friends, some not even in Slytherin, and Eddy's in Ravenclaw. At first it was a bit crazy, getting used to the games they play… but you realise it's really not that different than what I've done before here."

"Oh?" asked Sirius casually, but Harry detected the sharp interest in his inflection.

It was Harry's turn to look away. "Dumbledore and I spoke about this before… when Eddy first started at Hogwarts. I've done things here to protect him that he wouldn't appreciate it, and I've done things I don't want him to know about. Ever. So when it comes to the games that the Slytherins play—who has power, who wants power, how to get power—it's really nothing different than what I've done in Little Whinging to make sure that Eddy was safe."

Sirius's eyes searched Harry's when the young teen turned to look at his godfather, and whatever Sirius was looking for, he found. His gaze softened and he nodded. "I know," he said, and Harry felt a warm bubble of emotion heat him from his stomach. "I _know_," the innocent man repeated, emotion filling the two words.

Moreover, Harry knew, instinctively, that Sirius _did_ know.

"Henry!" hissed Edgar. "_Was. It. Black_?"

Harry turned back to face his brother, and plastered a fake, soothing expression on his face. "No, Eddy," he lied, the words like ash in his mouth. "It was a stray dog that smelled dinner on us. He was hungry and that's what made him a bit threatening. I threw some rocks and pebbles at it until it got the message and left."

Harry then deliberately got into his bunk and rolled over. "Night, Eddy."

There was a significant pause, but then Harry heard Edgar turn off the desk lamp, climb into his bunk, and murmur, "Night, Harry."

It took Harry some time to fall asleep that evening.

*

Harry continued to meet with Sirius during the summer in Little Whinging, learning a bit more here and there about his parents' and his godfather and their mutual friend Remus Lupin without telling Edgar.

Unsure of how to keep Sirius a secret, especially as he was wanted for murder and foolishly staying in Little Whinging (which was notorious for its snoopy neighbours); Harry took a risk and invited Sirius to Vicar Hornsby's parish. Since speaking to the vicar the previous Christmas, Harry found that he enjoyed the man's quiet demeanour and the confidence that he exuded, one that came of knowing his place in the world.

The vicar had listened, and did not rush to call the police as Harry had feared, but did demand that he meet Sirius and pass judgment on his own, which Sirius did pass. The vicar's only requirement of his silence and help (at first of which Harry was unsure of, given his fears that it would go against the man's faith), was that the wizard confess and then repent for seeking revenge over caring for the Potters.

Harry was entirely sure that Sirius got off _very_ lightly.

The downsides in having Hornsby help him and Sirius was that they were required to break that Statute of Secrecy and take the man into their confidences. At first, Harry was incredibly worried about how the man would take the knowledge of Harry and Edgar being _wizards_ and magic uses… but that soon fell to the wayside.

"I always thought there was something off about you," the ruddy-faced man laughed.

"You're not upset?" asked Harry, astonished. He glanced at Sirius, who sat with his hands wrapped around a mug of the vicar's famous hot chocolate, who looked uncomfortable and a little out-of-place.

"No, no," assured the religious man. "Just because my faith says that witchcraft is evil does not mean that _you_ are. And I certainly won't be requiring you to partake in an exorcism or confess if you're worried about it. Magic is…" Hornsby trailed off, and gave a small, almost Mona-Lisa smile. "What is the difference between _magic_ and _miracle_? Where do you draw the line between God and the unexplained or the knowledge of science we have yet to discover? What is magic but another way of expressing our faith?"

"Very philosophical," said Sirius diplomatically. "A lot of Muggles wouldn't see magic as innocent as you."

Hornsby nodded. "Oh, I know. Let me tell you, does it ever make sense about Petunia Dursley now! Goodness, was that woman _ever_ particular about making sure her family was at church services every Sunday."

The vicar, who was just a few years older than Sirius, reclined in his seat in the kitchen and cocked his head to the side as he regarded the fully-grown wizard. Sirius had freshened up come, although he was still sickly looking and his hair was still a mess—but there was a lightness to him that he didn't have when Harry first met him.

"What are your plans, Mr. Black?"

Sirius visibly cringed. "Please, call me Sirius. As for my plans—well, they _were_ to head to Hogwarts in time for Harry and Eddy's school year to start so I could get Peter, but now…"

"Revenge?" questioned Hornsby, sounding horribly vague and injecting almost no emotion into his question.

Sirius shrugged. "That was the plan. Before. Previously. Whatever."

Shrewdly, Hornsby eyed the wizard, completely ignoring Harry (who sat silent regardless), and then lectured softly, "Do not commit the crime for which you were imprisoned."

"I know," sighed Sirius, bringing a hand up from the warm mug to run it through his grimy hair, "but I can't clear my name without Peter. He's also an unregistered animagus, and I guarantee you that he's with the Weasleys."

Harry did his best to control that twitch of distaste, but caught both men's attention. "I know the twins. They're alright, but their youngest…" here, he was about to say 'son,' but then realised that with Ginny's death, Ron was the youngest Weasley. He amended, clearing his throat hastily and drawing Sirius's concern, "youngest kid, Ron; well, he's a right prat."

Hornsby didn't say anything, having already heard the whole, uncensored version of the previously watered-down story Harry gave the man about Ginny's death and his role in it. Instead, the vicar cast a concerned eye over Harry, who nodded slightly.

Satisfied that the young Potter was fine, the vicar spoke. "And you say that Pettigrew is living with the Weasleys as their pet?"

"Yes," answered Sirius, reaching into his tattered Azkaban-issued clothes and removing a very familiar looking cut out. He unfolded it and Harry swallowed as he reread the headline: _Boy-Who-Lived and friends uncover famed Chamber of Secrets—youngest Weasley girl dies in encounter_.

The picture of the Weasley family was from their trip to Egypt the previous summer, and the last time they were all together. On Ron's shoulder was a rat, missing a single finger on its left claw.

"How do you know that's him and not just another rat?" questioned Harry, logically.

"Peter cut off his finger before he transformed and blew the street up. It was the perfect set-up, ensuring that they wouldn't look any further for him except for the single piece that remained," noted a bitter Sirius, his grey eyes dull as he recounted the day. "No matter what, it's going to be nearly impossible to clear my name. Or get Peter."

"Will your Headmaster not help?" asked Hornsby, turning to Harry. "You seem to be on excellent speaking terms, from our previous discussions."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. I wouldn't put too much into it, though. He's the Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot, and that means he can push for a trial but only with new evidence. Otherwise he believes that Sirius is as guilty as sin."

Hornsby sighed. "That does pose quite the problem… and with Pettigrew able to become a rat, he can secret himself in small hideaways and escape the notice of most. You'd be best to set a trap."

"No guarantees though," argued Harry with a resigned sigh. "I could probably raise an alarm with some friends, but others wouldn't be told. I can trust Cedric and Theo _completely_, but Hermione's too trusting still in authority, and Nate, Gorman, and the other Hufflepuff's would probably go running to a professor, like they did last year."

"Had they not, Henry, you and your friends would've remained in that chamber indefinitely," chided Hornsby.

Harry flushed in chastisement, acknowledging the rebuke. He ignored Sirius's curious glance at his godson, as he hadn't heard the full story yet. Harry was almost afraid to tell his godfather about the Chamber of Secrets.

"Cedric…? Theo?" the man in question asked instead.

"Cedric Diggory," explained Harry, "one of my good friends, and Theodore Nott, a fellow Slytherin."

Sirius's expression shuttered briefly, but then opened again. "Diggory, eh? I remember Amos. Good man—and Nott, did you say?" He paused here, politely looking for something to say about Theo's family.

Harry took pity on him and gave a tiny, but not forced, laughed. "Yeah, I already know. His father's a likely Voldemort supporter but Theo's damn prickly about it. Can't stand his old man."

"Oh?" asked Hornsby, engaging the conversation back into a three-way discussion.

Harry nodded. "Same kind of home life, I reckon. Hates his father something fierce, though—and he's wicked fast on his feet with excellent reflexes."

The two men shared a similar expression as it flashed across their faces—but they both remained stubbornly silent on the matter of Theodore Nott, Junior. Instead, the conversation drifted back towards a makeshift plan to capture Peter Pettigrew, which revolved around Harry keeping his eyes open for a four-fingered rat.

It was a poorly conceived plan and had as many holes as Swiss cheese, and at the end of the long discussion, none of the three were entirely satisfied—but it was something to work on.

Hornsby generously offered a spare bedroom, sequestered off in a tiny area of the church, for Sirius to use while he recovered from his incarceration in Azkaban. The vicar did suggest that for the next week months he and Sirius speak about the prison and his experiences as a form of therapy. Sirius grudgingly accepted, and Hornsby left Harry in the kitchen to show Sirius the room.

When the vicar returned, he eyed Harry and then asked, "Does Edgar know about your meetings with Sirius, Henry?"

Harry flushed.

"I thought not." The vicar sighed and settled back in his chair, steadily regarding the eldest Potter. "Why haven't you told him? Doesn't he deserve to know that his father's best friend is an innocent man? Or that he's your godfather?"

Harry's lips quirked up at the corner. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you why I was keeping Sirius a secret."

"Try me," implored the vicar.

Harry swirled the dregs of his hot chocolate, and while looking into the brownish liquid, confessed. "When I lured Sirius away from me the first night we met, I was ready to do anything in my power to stop him from hurting Eddy. _Anything_. I was planning to commit murder and figure out a way to dispose of the body when Sirius asked the right question and got me thinking."

Harry looked up at the vicar, who passed no judgment and let the young teen speak. "What kind of person does that make me? That I'm capable of succumbing to this… dark desire, a _need_, to do whatever is necessary to stop someone from hurting my baby brother.

"And it's not just about protecting him," continued Harry, the words rushing out faster and faster from his mouth, almost tripping over them in his haste to speak his mind, "Although that's what I do. Everything I do is to protect Eddy and take care of him and make sure he's happy. It was the fact that I recognised the same thing in Sirius that I have. He was going to kill Pettigrew without a second thought if it meant stopping him from hurting Eddy and I again."

Harry took a deep breath, his hands trembling against his mug. "Does that make me a bad person, to want to keep this part of me hidden from Eddy? That I don't want him touched by the same impulses I have?"

Hornsby was silent for some time after Harry spoke, quite clearly thinking and weighing his words carefully before he spoke. "I don't think you are a bad person, Henry. I think it's admirable that you will do so much for Edgar. However, I do believe that he is his own person and is more than capable of handling some of the situations that you encounter. There is a quiet strength to be found in Edgar that I think you overlook because you are so used to protecting him that you fail to realise he is _your_ brother. He is a Potter; he can take care of himself. Eventually, he will grow up and learn to stand on his own. You can only protect him for so long before he will resent you for your protection and interference."

Harry was pale-faced as Hornsby spoke, but respected the man enough to tell him the truth straight-out.

"That being said," the man continued, "I do believe you also spend so much time in focusing on Edgar that you fail to see to your own needs. Take some time to do what _Henry_ wants, what _Henry_ cares about. Everything else will fall into place."

"But this destiny that the Sorting Hat spoke about?" queried Harry, whispering. "That I have a role to play in things to come?"

Hornsby's blue eyes shifted into something harder. "Then you'd best start worrying about yourself, Henry. If destiny comes to those who have no choice in the matter, wouldn't you rather be prepared?"

_Yes_, thought Harry, _yes he would_.

*

Harry considered Vicar Hornsby's words and began revising after he completed his summer homework. Cedric sent him some of his older third and fourth-year books for classes that Harry didn't take (which was Arthimancy and Divination), but then soon gave up on the vague art of fortune telling.

He and Edgar patched things up as best as they could and Harry did his best to let his brother see a few more of the cracks in his personality than he previously had—which meant that there were more fights between the two as Harry began voicing his own desires and decisions and Edgar slowly tried to figure out his own position in his brother's life when he wasn't the centre of attention.

As the summer began to wind down and the boys met their friends in Diagon Alley, time was running out for Harry to make a decision on Sirius and whether or not to tell Edgar about the man's innocence. On one hand, if he kept it a secret and Edgar found out months down the road, the younger Potter would blow his stack at Harry. On the other hand, if Harry and Vicar Hornsby couldn't prove Sirius's innocence, then nothing would change… but Edgar would still be upset at not being told in the first place.

Did he or didn't he? Harry hummed and hawed over the decision, but then soon put it out of his mind whenever he visited his godfather at the parish—and then suddenly in was September and he and Edgar were being picked up by the Grangers and brought to King's Cross.

Edgar went off to find Colin Creevey and Luna Lovegood (having lost his friendship with that Gareth character), and Harry settled into his compartment with Theo, and Nate, and then Hermione brought Neville Longbottom. Cedric later dropped by with Gorman, Mike and Horatio, and the opportunity was lost: Harry failed to tell his brother about Sirius's innocence.

The habit was too ingrained. _Protect Edgar. Ensure his happiness. Make sure he has the food to eat, the water to drink, the books needed to study and get good grades. Make sure he doesn't know of the things I do to protect him from Dudley's gang. Make sure he doesn't know about the threats, the blackmail. Protect him_.

Was he making a mistake? Harry wasn't sure; it would reveal itself in the future if he were doing the right thing or not. And if not… well… he would deal with it when it happened. Maybe he was selectively taking Vicar Hornsby's suggestions, ignoring the one he always ignored and adapting the others. Maybe he shouldn't be doing that—but when it came down to it, at the end of the day, they were Harry's mistakes to be made. He would have to deal with their consequences when they came—and they would come, he knew that elementally—and do some damage control.

Until then, though…

It was another school year at Hogwarts, and another year of carving his place out. Destiny waits for no one—and certainly not for Henry "Harry" James Potter. Not if he had anything to say about it.

*

TBC...

*

**Note**: I'm unsure if I'll manage to have another chapter up and running before September, as that is when I'm moving to the UK (if you've seen my note in chapter 24 of _Road Not Taken_ when my exact date was a bit... wonky). I'm pretty sure I will, but not one-hundred percent; otherwise I do have my notes right up until year four, when I'm at a block at how to proceed past it into years five, six, and beyond.

Please excuse any liberties that I've taken with Catholicism. I'm not overly religious and I'm not Catholic, so whatever I uncover is thanks to Google and Wikipedia when it comes to the CoE stuff.


End file.
